Hogwarts is a Strange Place: Raising Harry Book 2
by aramie.greyson
Summary: Harry's life continues as he attends his first year in Hogwarts. Mysteries lurk, music is played, and new friends are made. First book of part two of the 'Raising Harry' storyarc. See author's profile for full summary.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** And here's the first part for the second book. Happy reading!

* * *

**Raising Harry, Part Two**  
_Book Two: La Vida Hogwarts_

**Year One: Hogwarts is a Strange Place **

**Chapter One: Arriving**

Sunday, September 1, 1991 came much earlier than Harry was used to. Because of the six-hour time difference between Marysville, Iowa and the British Isles, he had to get up at three-thirty in the morning. A.J. had spent the night and had her parents' permission to go with the Brewers to see Harry off on the train. In fact, it was A.J. who woke him. "G'way," Harry grumbled before rolling over.

A.J. giggled and pried Harry off of his loft, "C'm on, Harry! Time to get up!"

"You drank coffee, didn't you?" he blearily asked.

"'Course I did. Didn't bother sleepin' last night. Knew we had to be up really early. I also have the rest of today _and_ tomorrow to recover. You, on the other hand, hafta go to class tomorrow. Brits don't have Labor Day," A.J. grinned at him before leaving the room. Harry reluctantly made his way to the bathroom to finish waking up properly. _It's way too damn early in the day to be as awake as she is._ He dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, his cowboy boots, and the smaller version of the same white Stetsons that Jim and Dave wore. When he was done with his chores, he would add the white button-up shirt.

Once the horses were tended to, his cow milked, the goat fed, the guinea pigs fed and watered, and breakfast was done, Harry slipped upstairs. He quickly twisted the knob on his trunk to grey and grabbed his .22, the box of shells, and his bear. He hurriedly stashed them in the trunk-room before popping back into his normal bedroom and twisting the knob back to blue. He had discovered since acquiring the trunk that he was the only one that could open it; when his dad and Dave had tried, it acted like it was locked. He gave everything a once-over to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything. His quidditch book was packed away, as well as the foreign-language dictionaries he'd asked his mom to pick up. Aurilia had also insisted that he take some muggle nonfiction books, too, so he also had some books on history, science, and math. He was under strict orders from his mom to read at least one chapter out of each book per week.

"Got ev'rythin'?" his dad asked from the doorway while Harry was pulling on his shirt.

Harry nodded, "Think so. If not, I'll write. I'm sure Dumbledore has some way set up for us to stay in touch."

Jim nodded, "He does, an' he said that you'd have permission to call us through the fireplace if you needed anythin'. You'll hafta ask him when you get there if there's a specific fireplace on your end."

Harry checked, for the dozenth time that morning, to make sure his wand was still in the carrier that Nana had made for him – a small leather holster that was strung on his belt, along with his buck-knife and the miniature Mag-light Dave had given him to match his own. "Yeah, I've got ev'rythin'. Let's get goin'." Jim shouldered the trunk, making the same observation that Dave had – it weighed far less than it should have – and followed Harry to where everyone else was waiting in the living room. Harry opened the small mason jar that held grey dust, took a handful and stepped into the floo, shouting "Diagon Alley."

A.J. followed him after making sure that all the other Brewers were familiar with their portkey, as none of them had used one before. Their earlier trip to Diagon Alley had been conducted solely through the floo network, with Harry acting as the lead since a muggle couldn't activate it. They appeared next to Harry and A.J. moments later. "That was… nauseating." Aurilia mentioned.

It took some careful maneuvering of the London public transit system to get to Kings Cross station – a feat Aurilia hadn't had to do for several years. When they finally did, it was rapidly approaching eleven o'clock. The family stopped at the divider between platforms nine and ten, seeing the last of a family of red-heads disappear through the bricks. Harry was suddenly grateful that they were running short on time, his mom was already rather teary, and A.J., for all her tomboy bravado, looked like she might cry at any moment. "Be good, luz, and write often, you hear?" his mom gave him a tight hug.

"Will do. Promise," Harry replied, ruffling Cyrus' hair.

He received similar wishes from Dave and his dad. A.J. just threw her arms around him and clung tightly, "Remember to teach me what you learn when you get back, Harry!" Her voice was threatening to crack on tears.

Harry pulled away, grinning, "Promise. You hafta remember to show me all that Nana teaches you, too, ya know."

A.J. returned the grin, albeit a little sadly, "Cross my heart," she said.

"Better hurry, kiddo, you've only got a couple of minutes before the train leaves," Dave pointed to a clock not far from where they were standing.

Harry took his trunk from Jim and paused just before going through the barrier. "Be good!" his mom called after him.

He gave the Scouts' salute, "Scouts' honor!" he shouted back before being swallowed by red bricks.

The platform was a mass of confusion. People, owls, and trunks were everywhere. Harry blinked at the sight. Only a few of the people were wearing normal clothes, and even most of those looked slightly… off. "You there!" someone shouted. Harry looked around and saw a gangly red-headed youth heading his way. He was already wearing the Hogwarts uniform and had a shiny badge pinned to his robes. "You a first year?" the boy asked after reaching Harry.

"Yeah, I am. Who're you?" Harry asked. The older boy had the pompous, brown-nosing attitude of a lifetime member of the 'teacher's pet' association; the very same group of which Harry had narrowly escaped becoming a member, and he owed his rescue entirely to A.J. Harry already didn't like the boy.

"My name is Percy Weasley, and I'm a prefect. Take your trunk with you onto the train, and someone will help you put it in a compartment. Hurry, though, we will be leaving in," he checked his wristwatch, "precisely two minutes."

"Just two questions," Harry said, readjusting the trunk on his shoulder. He was feeling more than a little mischievous, and he knew A.J. wouldn't have hesitated even this long in what he was going to say.

Percy whirled around, he had started to leave, "What? Best be quick about it, lest you be left behind."

"What's a prefect?"

"We help to enforce the rules among the student body."

Harry nodded, mentally noting to avoid prefects in the future. "And… does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt?" Percy had a confused expression. Harry noticed that it looked distinctly out of place on the freckled redhead.

"The stick up your ass," Harry said, grinning widely. He never much cared for brown-nosers, and that was what Percy acted like. He stepped around the sputtering boy and headed towards the train, feeling that A.J. and Dave both would have approved, albeit quietly and far from his mom's hearing-range. Just before he was about to board the train, someone tapped him on the shoulder while someone else relieved him of his trunk.

"That was…"

"…Bloody brilliant!"

Harry turned to see a pair of identical red-headed twin boys grinning at him. "Who're y'all?" Harry asked.

"I'm Gred," the one with his trunk said.

"And I'm Forge," the other one replied.

"Rather, that's Fred."

"And George."

"And Perfect Prefect Percy is our…"

"…older brother and we just saw…"

"…you do something we've been dreaming of…"

"…for the last couple years…"

"…ever since we came to Hogwarts." Harry realized that speaking with the twins was like watching a tennis match. The two of them then simultaneously asked, "And you are?"

"Harry," he replied, wondering if he'd get a similar reaction from the twins as he'd received from that Hermione girl in Diagon Alley.

"Well, Harry…" the one with his trunk started.

"We're Weasleys…" the other one continued.

Simultaneously they finished, "…And there's quite a few of us."

A dark haired girl hurried past the three of them, "Gred! Forge! There you two are! Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula!" she shouted, "Want to come see?"

"Not just yet, Angelina," one of them, Harry thought it was Fred, said.

"We've got a firstie to take care of, just now," the other finished. The girl's gaze narrowed a little, and George held his hands up, "Now, Angelina, we're not going to prank him! He put Percy in his place!"

The girl blinked, then smiled at Harry, "You realize you just made friends for life in these two, right?"

Harry shrugged, "'At's good ta know, miss," he tipped his hat to her and followed the twins down the loud, packed isle. Eventually they reached a compartment near the end of the train.

Fred hoisted Harry's trunk into an overhead bin while George tapped a boy that was staring out the window. "Ickle Ronniekins!"

The shorter red-headed boy ducked out from under George, "What?" he said, scowling.

"We've brought you a fellow firstie," Fred said.

"Who has already proved himself to be worth knowing," George continued.

"He put…"

"Perfect Prefect Percy…"

"…succinctly into place." With that the twins left the compartment and Harry chuckled, sliding onto the bench across from the other boy.

"What did you do?" the other boy asked.

"Just asked 'im if the stick up his ass hurt any." Harry replied.

The other boy laughed and held out his hand, "I'm Ron Weasley."

"Harry Brewer," Harry replied, shaking the proffered hand.

The two started chatting and not long after the train started to move, Ron asked, "You sound odd. You're American?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah. I live in Iowa. My folks breed horses, an' Mom runs an herbalist store."

"Why didn't you go to a school in the US, then?"

"'Cause I was given the option to go ta Hogwarts, an' I ain't never seen a castle before. That an' if I wanted to go to school in the states, I'd hafta wait two more years, 'til I was in the ninth grade. An' this way, I get the best of ev'rythin'. The US don't have no laws against underage magic, so's I c'n practice all summer an' durin' vacations, an' I get ta start learnin' real magic two years earlier."

Ron shook his head, _And people think I sound stupid!_ Out loud, though, he shrugged, "Makes sense. So, are your parents wizards?"

Harry shook his head, "No, my folks're muggles, an' I didn't learn I was a wizard 'til this summer. Was really weird learnin' 'bout it all."

During the course of the train ride, Ron and Harry got to know each other rather well. "I don't envy you havin' three brothers," Harry remarked at one point. "One's 'bout all I c'n handle, though I heard Mom an' Dad say that when Cyrus is another year or two older, they're gonna try for another."

"Five," Ron replied. "I have five older brothers and a little sister."

"Do they go to Hogwarts, too?"

Ron shook his head, "No, Ginny – she's my sister – isn't old enough. She'll start next year. My two oldest brothers did, but they're both done with school. Bill's the oldest, he's a curse-breaker for Gringotts, and Charlie works with dragons in Romania."

At one point in their conversation, an elderly witch appeared pushing a trolley of sweets. "Anything from the trolley, dears?" she asked.

Harry got to his feet – it had been a _long_ time since breakfast. "Sure. Ya want anythin', Ron?"

Ron shook his head, "No, I'm all right. Mom made sandwiches."

Harry's interest perked, he wasn't really in the mood to pick through the jellybeans or catch a leaping frog. "What kind?"

"Corned beef."

"Cool. Tell ya what, I'll get ya somethin' from the trolley, an' we'll trade, yeah?"

Ron shrugged. Harry bought a couple of cauldron cakes, some licorice wands, and two bottles of butterbeer, figuring it was probably along the lines of root beer or birch beer – he wasn't disappointed. Just as the two of them were finishing up their meal, the door to their compartment opened. "Has anyone seen a toad?" the girl from Madam Malkin's asked. "A boy named Neville's lost one."

"Sorry," Ron said, shaking his head.

"Nope," Harry confirmed. "Ain't seen a toad. Saw a chocolate frog out the window a few minutes ago – musta got away from someone – but I don't think that's what ya meant."

The girl sighed, "If you see it, would you tell me?" she asked.

The boys nodded, "Sure."

"I'm Ron Weasley, by the way," Ron said.

"Hermione Granger," the girl said.

"Good ta see ya again, Hermione," Harry tipped his hat at her. "Finish your book?"

"Yes," she replied, wondering just how it was that such an ignorant boy could possibly be going to such a prestigious school as Hogwarts, and feeling slightly irritated at the strange nasally twang he gave to the middle part of her name. "You'd better get into your uniforms, I expect we'll be arriving soon." She closed the door and disappeared.

"Not all 'at friendly, is she?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged and finished off his licorice wand, then fed the crusts of his sandwich to a rat in his pocket. "This is Scabbers," he said.

"A rat?" Harry asked.

"What's wrong with it?" Ron was defensive.

"Nothin', it's just the letter said a cat, owl, or toad. Had I known rodents were okay, I'd'a brought one of my guinea pigs."

Content that Harry wasn't making fun of his pet, Ron suggested, "Maybe you can bring one back with you after Christmas."

Harry grinned, "Mayhap so. 'Spect the girl's right, though. We should get our uniforms on."

While changing into their robes – Ron pointed out that since it was Sunday, they wouldn't be required to wear the full uniform – Harry knocked his hat back to hang from its cord around his neck. It was getting dark outside, anyway. He looked up from the window to see Ron's eyes were fixated on his forehead and they were open wide enough for Harry to see the whites all around the irises. "What?" he asked.

"Blimey, you're Harry_ Potter_!"

Harry chuckled, "Sorta. I don't go by that name. Never really did. When Mom married Dad a few years back, I took the last name. So, I'm really Harry _Brewer_." He chewed on his lip for a moment. "Hmm… Think I ought ta make up cards or somethin'? Ev'ryone seems ta have trouble with my name for some reason."

Surprised out of his astonishment, Ron laughed. "You might at that, Harry."

The train began to slow, signaling their arrival. Harry tugged his trunk down out of the overhead bin, standing on the seat to do so, and then helped Ron with his. "How'd you get yours down by yourself?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, "It used ta be my real dad's, an' I think it's got some sort of charm on it. No matter what I put in it, it don't get no heavier."

Ron went to pick up the trunk and realized that even with charms to reduce its weight, it was still rather heavy. "Still feels plenty heavy to me," he said.

Harry snickered. "It wouldn't if you helped throw around hay-bales all day." Before exiting the compartment, Harry replaced his hat. He was already getting tired of people seeing his scar and assuming that he was that Potter kid. He was a _Brewer_, damnit, and proud of it.

Ceding the point, Ron and Harry made their way off the train, following the prefects' instructions to leave their luggage on the train. Once outside, there was a loud voice shouting, "Firs' years over here!" Following the shout, they soon located Rubeus Hagrid. Harry felt that othersense kick in again. He knew he was supposed to get to know this giant of a man, even if he didn't know why. Thankfully the book Snape had recommended on Empathy had worked wonders. The only emotions he'd felt during the entire ride had been his own.

Ron and Harry followed the large man and a mass of their fellow first-years to a dock where they were all instructed to get into boats. Everyone heeded the man's advice of no more than four people per boat; the boats were _really_ small. A scared-looking girl with strawberry blonde braids and a smiling black boy shared the boat with Harry and Ron. The four of them chatted for a little while, while everyone else got into their own boats. "I'm Dean Thomas," the black boy introduced himself.

"Ron Weasley," Ron replied. "And this is Harry Po – oof!" Harry interrupted him with a well-placed elbow.

"Name's Brewer," Harry said, glaring at the red-headed boy beside him. "Harry Brewer."

"You're American?" Dean asked.

Harry laughed, "Yeah. It's that obvious?"

"Just a bit," the girl replied. "My name's Hannah Abbott."

Harry tipped his hat in her direction, "Pleased ta meet ya, Hannah."

Dean shook his head at the obvious difference between Harry's reply and his own, "Pleased to meet you, Miss Abbot." His mom had drilled him on manners until he was thoroughly sick of the subject – it wouldn't do to have all those lessons go to waste.

Before any of them could say anything further, the boats began to move, and all further conversation was halted by the students' first glimpse of Hogwarts. _She's beautiful_, Harry thought, _an' I get to _live_ there? Wonder which room is mine…_ Unknown to him, most of the other students were thinking similarly.

When they reached the school, after having to duck under some trailing ivy that hid the entrance to a cave-enclosed dock, the giant-man lead the first-years up a short flight of stairs, stopping at a large door and knocking three times. It opened at once, revealing a stern-faced older woman with her graying, black hair twisted into a bun and wearing severe green robes.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," the man said.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She pulled the door wide. _Wow,_ Harry thought,_ this hall alone's big enough to plunk the cottage into… mayhap the house an' garage, too_. The entrance hall was lit like everywhere else Harry had been in the wizarding world – with an assortment of either torches or candles. _Iffen they've got magic, an' magic can make lights like in the trunk, then why all the torches?_ Harry wondered, then figured he would likely receive an answer to that question at some point during his time at Hogwarts.

Everyone followed Professor McGonagall across the stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right. _The rest of the students must already be here. Wonder how they got here so quick?_ The professor didn't open the doors to the room from which the muted voices of hundreds could be heard, instead McGonagall ushered them into a small room to the left. Everyone crowded in, and Harry was once again thankful to Snape for recommending the book on Empathy. He could tell everyone was nervous, even without using his talent, and didn't think he could have dealt with their anxiety along with his own.

The professor cleared her throat, "Welcome to Hogwarts." A couple of the more-nervous kids jumped a little at her voice. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room." Harry nodded, most of this had already been told to him by either Dumbledore or Snape. He still listened attentively, though, as the teacher might divulge some previously-unknown tidbit of information.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours." Though Harry had heard a bit about the house structure already, the information on points was new to him. _Wonder why it's such a big deal? Does the winning house get a party or a trip somewhere?_

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." The professor's gaze lingered on a few students who were looking less than their best. One of them – a slightly round blonde boy – had his cloak fastened incorrectly. "I shall return when we are ready for you, please wait _quietly_." With that, she turned and left through a door which Harry was pretty sure would lead them to the room where the rest of the student body was waiting.

Harry heard someone swallow loudly before whispering, "How do they sort us into houses?" He thought it might have been Dean, but he didn't bother looking up to confirm his assumption. He was busy making sure his flashlight, wand, and buck-knife were still securely in their respective holsters on his belt. He did notice that it was Ron who replied.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Harry snickered. The kid who'd asked the question was indeed Dean. "What's so funny?" Ron asked.

"Just that I think Fred was messin' with ya, Ron. I heard that the houses are separated by personality type, an' I haven't the foggiest _how_ the sortin's done, but it can't be a test, 'less it's one of those personality tests, like with inkblots an' whatnot. I mean, we're _first-years_, an' iffen it was a test on magic, how would _any_ of us pass?" Harry met Ron's and Dean's eyes.

"What makes you so certain?" Hermione piped up. Harry was both irritated that she'd jumped, uninvited, into their conversation, and pleased that she'd stopped muttering the names of various spells under her breath.

Before Harry could respond, several people behind him screamed. "What in blue blazes?" he turned to see what had caused the commotion.

About twenty pearly-white, translucent ghosts had come _through_ the back wall and were gliding towards the opposite wall, talking amongst themselves. "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name, and, you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?" Harry grinned. _So these are some of those ghosts the professors told me about._

"We're the new first-years," Harry said, tipping his hat to them, accidentally knocking it off to hang by its cord, and answering the question posed by the ghost of a man in a ruff and tights. "We're waitin' for the Sortin' Ceremony to start."

The Fat Friar smiled at Harry, "That's nice, dear boy!" To the group at large he waived and said, "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know." The ghosts dispersed and the group returned to waiting. Harry was starting to get a little impatient. _What the hell can be takin' so long?_

Lost in his musings, Harry didn't notice when someone sighted his scar, followed by frantic whispering and pointing. He did notice, however, when a pale boy with silvery eyes and a pointy, rattish face stepped directly in front of him and said, "So the rumors are true then. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts."

Harry scoffed and leveled a cold look at the boy. His other-sense was tripping warning bells all through his mind. "Name's Brewer, not Potter."

The blonde smirked, "That's right, you were raised by muggles, were you not?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yeah. What's it to ya?" He eyed the two large boys that flanked the blonde. Harry thought they both looked rather like the drawing of _Homo Sapiens Neanderthalensis _on his poster in the trunk. He was familiar with their attitude, though; it just screamed 'bully.'

"Oh," the blonde glanced over his shoulder at the other two boys, as if just remembering that they were there. "This is Crabbe and Goyle." He pointed to first one, then the other. "And I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Harry recognized the last name as being the same as one of the authors of the books Snape had recommended. He chuckled, though, because several of the movies he'd received for his birthday centered on James Bond. "'At's nice, but that means _what_ ta me?" Ron, as well as everyone else in the room, was gaping at Harry in astonishment.

Draco's smirk grew wider, "You'll soon learn that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." He held out his hand for Harry to shake.

Harry looked from Malfoy's hand to his face and back to the hand. _Just who does this prig think he is?_ "I ain't touchin' that. I dunno where it's been."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he lowered his hand. "I suppose, Potter, that after being raised by muggles, it is only natural that their… ignorance of culture and the niceties of polite interaction have rubbed off on you. Perhaps you ought to see about obtaining some manners."

"The only one without manners I see here is you, an' my name's not _Potter,_ damnit! It's _Brewer_. What's wrong with you that you can't remember a simple name? You get dropped on your head as a baby?"

Draco's cheeks acquired a pink tinge and his eyes grew very cold, "I'd be careful if I were you, _Potter_," he purposefully stressed the name, "unless you're a bit more polite, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either."

"Excuse me, Krätze, but I _got_ parents. I was _adopted_, hence the name _Brewer_," Harry's patience with the kid was rapidly wearing thin and his mom's tendency to swear in German was something Harry had picked up, right alongside Jim's and Dave's drawling, Oklahoma accent.

Draco ignored the word he didn't understand and scoffed, "No doubt by common, ignorant fools on which the true concept of _family_ is completely lost."

Harry bristled. _I really don't like this kid. _"You know what, Malfoy, I got the _best_ sort of family, 'cause they _picked_ me. No doubt your own family regrets the day you were forced on 'em, du schleimige kleine wurmzerfressene Nachgeburt einer – "

"It is so _very_ important to your continuance at this school, Mr. Brewer, for you _not_ to finish that sentence," McGonagall stated from the doorway.

"Sorry, ma'am," Harry said, knowing, even without consulting his other-sense, that this witch was someone he didn't want to get on the bad side of. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," she pursed her lips before turning to the rest of the assembled first-years. "Come along now, we are ready for you. Please form a line and follow me."

Feeling slightly excited and more than a little ashamed that he'd nearly been caught swearing – even though he doubted any of the other kids understood what he had said, or even what he was _going_ to say – by a teacher, Harry got into line behind a black boy that was taller than Dean and in front of Ron. McGonagall lead the line of first-years into the Great Hall.

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**A/N2:** From here on through Harry's second year, you will, from time to time, find chapters that sound quite a lot like cannon. These are the parts I believe to be Fate. In each instance, though, there is always some slightly new spin on things. Thanks, as always, to the ever-so-efficient and speedy beta Aurilia!

**A/N3:** German cleaned up (August 25, 2007). Many thanks to Johannes for pointing me in the right direction!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** And here's chapter two. There's been some concern about my Fate comment in the last chapter's A/N. Don't worry about it too much, though I think certain events in Harry's life are Fated, those scenes which will echo cannon have been written with _this_ version of Harry well in mind. So far, I haven't had any nay-sayers among the folks who have the pleasure of reading this before it gets posted (namely, my family and my beta).

* * *

**Chapter Two: The First Night  
**

The Great Hall was nearly everything his imagination had pictured, though it was distinctly lacking in stained-glass and gilt statuary. It was lit by thousands of candles, hovering, unaided, over four long tables. There was a fifth long table, set perpendicular to the students' ones, and all the teachers were sitting there. Everyone had golden plates and goblets set before them, waiting for the food. McGonagall led the line of first-years through the center of the hall until they were all standing in front of the teachers' table. Looking up, Harry saw that Hogwarts; A History had been correct, and the ceiling was charmed to reflect the sky. He heard Hermione whisper that very fact to someone nearby. Dragging his attention back to Professor McGonagall, he watched as she sat a dirty, fraying wizard's hat on a wooden stool. _What's this?_ he wondered. _Do we hafta pull a rabbit out of it, or somethin'?_ Harry smiled at his own absurdity.

Though he had noticed people pointing out his scar and whispering, all chatter ceased and the other students' attention was captured by the hat. Harry didn't know what was so fascinating about an old hat. He really should have known better. The hat twitched, and it took all his will not to show his surprise. A rip near the brim opened and the hat began to sing. Harry had time to note that the voice was a rather pleasant baritone before focusing on the words of the song.

_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

Harry was slightly disturbed at something seeing inside his head. Unfortunately, even with the book on Occlumency he'd read, he knew he didn't currently have the capability to keep the hat from doing so. While the hall applauded the song, Harry overheard Ron sigh with obvious relief. "I'm going to kill Fred. He was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry snickered and whispered back, "Didn't I tell ya it couldn't be that bad?"

Ron nodded, "Yeah, you did. Sorry for not believing you."

"Don't worry 'bout it none. You couldn't've known 'at a couple of the professors here came to tell me 'bout Hogwarts over the summer. We didn't talk none 'bout it on the train."

Professor McGonagall then stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment, "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

The girl from the boat stumbled out of line, sat on the stool, and put on the hat. It fell right down over her eyes. Nothing happened for a few moments, and then the rip opened again and shouted, "Hufflepuff!" The table on the far right of the hall cheered as Hannah went to sit down among her fellow Hufflepuffs, the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"Hufflepuff!" the hat shouted once more, and Susan ran over to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!" became the first Ravenclaw, and then it was Harry's turn.

"Brewer, Harry!"

On his way to the stool, Harry could hear several whispered comments. "Thought he was Harry Potter," one person said. "Brewer? How can that be?" another voice added. Harry sighed and picked up the hat, but didn't put it on.

"Professor McGonagall?" he turned to the woman. "Before I do this, can I say somethin' to the hall?"

McGonagall glanced towards Dumbledore, who nodded slightly. "Very well, Brewer, but be quick about it."

"Thankee kindly, ma'am," he nodded to her. "'Scuse me!" he yelled. Very shortly, everyone calmed down and was quiet. "Thanks. I just wanted to say that yeah, I used ta be Harry Potter, however, I was adopted when I was a baby, an' took my dad's last name. It's Brewer, by the way, just in case y'all didn't catch it, an' I won't answer to 'Potter.' Just thought I'd clear that up now, 'fore it got to be an issue. Thanks again." With that, he plopped down on the stool and sat the hat on his head.

There was a moment of stillness before a voice began talking at the back of his head. "Very amusing, Mr. Brewer."

Harry jumped a little at the unexpected voice before thinking back at the voice in his head, _Thanks._

"Hmm… Interesting…"

_What?_

"Just pondering where to put you. You've got a wonderful mind and no small share of talent… There's courage here, too, and you are not afraid of hard work… Ah, and there is also no small thirst here to prove yourself…"

_So… Where am I going?_

"It would seem that Slytherin would be a good place for you, for it would help you on your way to greatness."

_Um… Greatness?_

"Yes, yes. Greatness. It's all here, in your head."

_What if I don't wanna be 'great?'_

"Not want to be great? Why not?"

_It's great people that make history, sure, but most of the guys in history books either died real young or spent their lives running' from one bad situation to another. I'd rather not be 'great.' I'd much rather be ordinary. Leaves more room for fun that way._

"'Ordinary?'" the hat sounded amused. "Oh, dear Mr. Brewer. You will be _anything_ but 'ordinary,' I fear."

_What makes ya say that?_

The hat laughed in his mind. "No one with your potential could possibly be anything but great."

_You keep pressin__'__ the 'great__'__. I don't get it. Why?_

The hat's tone turned more serious, "Because that is what you _are_."

_Am not._

"But you are."

_Don't think so. I'm just me. I can't help it if your standards are obviously lacking, which they have ta be in order ta consider _me_ great. Sure, I get good grades and like ta think I'm smarter than average, but from what Professor Snape told me about the Houses, that'd lend me ta Ravenclaw, not Slytherin. I also like hard work, it makes me feel like I've actually accomplished something at the end of the day, which would mean Hufflepuff. I try not ta let fear stand in my way of doing what needs done, so that means Gryffindor. Of all the Houses – again, this is from what Professor Snape told me this summer – I don't particularly feel like a Slytherin. I ain't all that cunning. If I were, wouldn't I have an easier job of not getting into trouble with my folks?_

"Well…" the hat sounded disappointed and Harry had the feeling that the entity residing within the hat had never been argued with in quite that way before. "If you're sure?"

_Yeah, I am._

"Better be…" the voice drifted from within his head to being heard by Harry's ears, "Gryffindor!"

Harry took off the hat, somewhat disturbed by it's insistence that he would be 'great,' and sat it on the stool. He smiled when he heard the Weasley twins chanting, "We got the Boy-Who-Lived!" over and over again.

He snuck up behind them and, standing on their left, reached around to tap one on the right shoulder. "Mind if I sit here?" he asked.

The twin he'd tapped whirled around, "Sure," he said and shoved his brother down a little, making room. Harry settled down on the bench, removing his cowboy hat to dangle by its cord – he'd been raised to take his hat off at the table, despite the rest of the students still wearing their pointy black caps – and watched the rest of the sorting. He was happy to find that Ron joined him in Gryffindor, as did Dean Thomas, the round boy who had buttoned his cloak wrong, and an Irish kid. Harry was even happier when Malfoy was sorted to Slytherin. Had he not argued with the hat, he would have had to live with the rat-faced little prick. He wasn't as pleased to find that Hermione Granger would be sharing their house; Harry felt she was kinda stuck-up, but given the choice between her and Draco, he'd take Hermione's slightly superior attitude any day.

When the last of the students had finally been sorted – the tall black boy he'd stood behind – into Slytherin, the headmaster stood up to address the hall. Harry wondered if this was going to take long. The meal he'd shared with Ron on the train felt _ages_ ago. From the time Albus had spent with his family in Iowa, Harry knew that the man was slightly… odd. Even he couldn't have known what the headmaster was going to say, though. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our wonderful feast, I would like to say a few words. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you." He returned to his seat.

"Ya know," Harry said to Ron and the twins, "I _suspected_ he was a coupla cards shy of a poker game, an' now I have _proof_."

Gred and Forge laughed, "Yeah, he is a bit mad, I suppose, but he's also probably the greatest wizard alive." Their synchronized speech was almost as intriguing to see as their finishing of each others' sentences. "Pass us the potatoes, would you?"

Harry's jaw dropped open despite his efforts to the contrary. In the space of mere seconds… milliseconds, actually, the table was packed with different dishes and platters of food. He could recognize roast beef, chicken, pork chops, peas, carrots, gravy, steak, and many others. He handed a dish of French fries to the twins and set about loading his own plate with some peas, pork chops, and some of the fries from the dish he'd passed to Fred and George, ignoring the slightly incredulous looks he received when he poured gravy on the fries. The food was better than his prior experience with school lunches, but the pork chops weren't as good as he'd had at home. _That's only to be expected, Harry,_ he thought. _After all, Iowa raises pigs, so the pork back home is always the freshest it can be, an' Mom's a real good cook. Rick, too, for that matter._

The ghost with the tights and ruff hovered nearby. "That does look good," he said sadly, watching everyone eat.

"Can't you…?" Ron asked around a mouthful of steak.

"I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss life's little pleasures…" he trailed off, staring wistfully at one of the dishes Harry couldn't identify. The ghost shook himself, "I don't think I've introduced myself. I am Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" Ron replied after he'd swallowed, "You're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy –" he began, but was interrupted by the sandy-haired Irish boy.

"Nearly headless? How can you be _nearly_ headless?"

The ghost was obviously irritated, though he also looked like this was a conversation he had participated in many times before. So, with a long-suffering sigh, he pulled on his left ear and said, "Like this." His head swung off his neck and hung there by a strip of skin and sinew.

Harry grimaced, "Gross. What happened to ya?"

Sir Nicholas looked to Harry, "I was the unfortunate victim of a botched beheading," he said.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that, but why?" Harry asked.

"I was living in a muggle area for several years and did one too many spells within view of a suspicious neighbor. He rallied the villagers and a rather dull ax took care of the rest." Sir Nicholas was a little surprised at the first year. No one had ever asked him for the details of his death before. He shrugged and his head was pushed back into place. "So… new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? We've never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron is becoming almost unbearable; he's the Slytherin ghost."

"How'd he get the name?" Harry asked when he spotted the gruesome ghost sitting next to Malfoy.

"I don't know, I never asked," Sir Nicholas replied.

"Guess I'll hafta, iffen I ever meet him in person," Harry said, finishing his dinner.

When everyone else had eaten as much as they could, the remains of dinner faded away only to be replaced with row after row of desserts. There was ice cream, apple pies, donuts, strawberries and other fruits, and several dishes that Harry couldn't identify. "There any strawberry-rhubarb pie?" he asked looking over the plates and bowls.

"No," Sir Nicholas replied. "Though I shared your fondness for rhubarb, it is rarely served at Hogwarts."

Harry sighed. "What's that?" he pointed to a dish of miniature pies.

"Treacle tarts," Ron said, reaching for one.

"Huh?"

Ron laughed, "Just try one, they're really good."

Harry took one of the tarts and nibbled on the edge. It was really too sweet, especially after the candy on the train, so he helped himself to a scoop of strawberries and poured some milk over them. He didn't see any cream, so the milk would have to do. While everyone was indulging in something sweet and sugary, the talk among the first-years turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," the Irish boy said. Harry realized the kid's name was Seamus Finnegan, though he didn't recall being introduced. "Me dad's a muggle, Mum's a witch. Bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out, but they're okay about it now."

"What about you?" Ron asked the boy who had buttoned his cloak wrong.

Harry vaguely recalled that the boy's name was Neville, though, like Seamus, he didn't remember anyone actually saying so. "Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," Neville said, "but the family thought I was a squib for ages. My great uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off-guard and force some magic out of me. He pushed me off the end of Blackpool Pier once. I nearly drowned. Nothing happened until I was eight, though. Great Uncle Algie came around for dinner and hung me out of an upstairs window by my ankles. My great aunt Enid – his wife – offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go of me. Everyone was scared, but I bounced all down the garden and into the road. Gran was really pleased and ended up crying, she was so happy. They were all really pleased when I got my letter to come to Hogwarts; no one thought I had enough magic to come here, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so proud that he bought me my toad."

Down the table, Harry could hear Hermione and Prefect Percy talking about lessons, but he tuned them out. "What 'bout you, Dean?"

"My parents are both muggles," he replied. "I know we were all really surprised to learn about all this," he gestured around, indicating the whole of the wizarding world, "but I also know they were glad there was a rational explanation of what I was doing when weird things happened around me."

"You got any brothers or sisters?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah. I've got two older sisters, Suzanne and Amelia, but Amelia's already married and lives in Liverpool with her husband. Suzanne will be sixteen next month." He blinked in surprise. "Guess that means I'll have to find her a birthday present."

"I can't imagine havin' older sisters. I've got a baby brother, though. His name's Cyrus, an' will be two in April." Harry finished off his strawberries and pushed his plate away.

Conversation around him had calmed a little; most of the people had endured a rather long day and with the abundance of food were starting to feel a little sluggish and sleepy. Harry, on the other hand, was wide awake. He took the lull as a chance to look around. Hagrid was drinking from a goblet the size of a bucket and talking with a tiny little man; the size difference between the two making their respective statures that much more noticeable. Professor McGonagall was chatting with Dumbledore, and Snape was trying to ignore the chattering of a teacher in an absurd purple turban. The man in the turban glanced around while he talked, and for a split-second, his eyes landed on Harry. A sharp spike of white-hot pain flared in Harry's scar. Harry winced, but the pain had gone as quickly as it had come.

The twins had noticed, though. "What is it?" George asked. Harry _knew_ it was George. He noticed there was a small, triangular freckle on the exact midpoint between his eyebrows that was missing on Fred's face.

Harry shrugged, "Not sure. Who's that teacher talkin' at Snape?"

The twins looked up. "That's Professor Quirrell. He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. Replaced Professor Zandryn for the last month of last year, when Zandryn had a heart-attack and couldn't continue teaching," Fred said while his brother asked, "How do you know Snape?"

"He an' Dumbledore were the ones who came an' told me 'bout Hogwarts," Harry replied. "Gave me a bunch of book recommendations, though it took him a couple of days to realize I'm not my real dad. He an' my real dad apparently didn't like each other none when they was in school."

"You must have said or done something that really impressed him," George said. "Snape usually doesn't like _anyone_ enough to help them."

Harry shrugged, he honestly didn't know what he could have done, and decided that it didn't really matter. He filed the information away, though, and went back to watching people – specifically Quirrell. Quirrell didn't look his way again, though. His other-sense was disturbingly quiet. It normally gave him a good idea of the nature of things to expect from people, even when he wasn't using his empathy.

At long last, the desserts disappeared and Dumbledore got to his feet, clearing his throat. "Just a few more words now that we're all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils – a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well," he was obviously looking at Fred and George. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry chuckled at that, but only a few others did. "He can't be serious," he said to the twins and Ron.

Fred and George exchanged uneasy glances. "He is, though. It's a bit odd, he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere. The forest's supposedly full of dangerous creatures, though we've not seen anything more than a giant spider or two," Fred explained.

George shook his head, "Well, we never really go all that far into it, though, do we? I heard there's supposed to be centaurs and thestrals, as well as a clan of werewolves hiding in a cave somewhere."

Before Harry could ask what a thestral was, Dumbledore cried, "And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Harry snickered when he saw that the smiles on the teachers – Snape excluded – had become rather fixed. Snape was openly scowling. Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick and a long, golden ribbon flew out the end of it. The ribbon rose high above the heads of the students and twisted into words. "Everyone pick their favorite tune and off we go!"

The school bellowed the song. Harry had picked the music behind his old school's theme song, an old drinking song called 'Whisky and Rye,' while the twins sung it as though it were a funeral march.

_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,  
Teach us something please,  
Whether we be old and bald  
Or young with scabby knees,  
Our heads could do with filling  
With some interesting stuff,  
For now they're bare and full of air,  
Dead flies and bits of fluff,  
So teach us things worth knowing,  
Bring back what we've forgot,  
just do your best, we'll do the rest,_  
_And learn until our brains all rot._

Everybody finished the song at different times because of the plethora of different music to which it was sung. The Weasley twins were the last ones left singing, and Dumbledore conducted their final lines with his wand. When they finished, he was one of the ones who clapped the hardest. "Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, I fear, it is bedtime. Off you go."

The Gryffindor first-years followed Prefect Percy through the chattering crowds out of the Great Hall and up the large marble staircase. Though everyone else appeared to be tired and were dragging their feet, Harry was still wide-awake. Though he'd had to wake up two hours earlier that morning than he usually did, he was still on Iowa time and felt as though it were only three or four o'clock in the afternoon. He noticed that Percy led them through doorways hidden behind tapestries and sliding panels and up more staircases than he could count. He also noticed that the people in the portraits they passed were moving, and unlike wizarding photos, they were also talking quite audibly. _I wonder just how much further we're goin'?_ Harry wondered. _I think we've walked the same distance from the Great Hall as from my house to A.J.'s._

He was startled out of his musings when the group suddenly came to an abrupt halt. A bundle of canes were floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him. "Peeves," Percy whispered to the first-years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves, show yourself!" There was the noise of someone blowing a raspberry as Percy's answer. "Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross- legged in the air, clutching the canes. "Ooh!" he said with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!" He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked. Harry wondered idly if a poltergeist was the same as a ghost and made a mental note to ask Sir Nicholas about it the next time he saw him.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron will hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the rest of the canes on Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed. "You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are." Everyone stopped again in front of a portrait of a heavyset woman in a frilly pink dress.

"Password?" she asked.

"Caput Draconis," replied Percy. The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room. It was round and decorated in shades of gold and red with several comfy-looking armchairs and sofas. _I guess this explains the ties and the bedding in the trunk._

Percy directed the girls to stairway at the back of the room and led the boys though an identical one across the room from it. At the very top of the spiral staircase they finally found their dorm room. Harry realized he must be at the top of one of the towers of the school. _Nifty._ He saw that everyone's luggage had already been brought up and were sitting at the foot of their respective beds.

Though Harry was still wide awake, none of the other boys were, and they set about putting on their pajamas and settling into bed. Harry waited until everyone was deeply asleep before venturing down the ladder into his trunk. He didn't want everyone to know about the room just yet, though he realized that it wasn't likely to stay a secret for long, living as he was in such close proximity to four other boys.

He grabbed the Latin dictionary and set to translating one of the thinner volumes on the bookcase, using one of several spiral-bound notebooks that he'd had his mom buy for him, in addition to the rolls of parchment he knew he would be expected to do his homework on. It was an interesting – if wordy – treatise on something called the 'Animagus transformation.' Harry realized, after a couple of hours, that it involved turning into an animal. When he tired of translating the document, he retrieved his guitar and began practicing with it. _Wonder if there's a piano anywhere hereabouts? Wouldn't do to have all Sarah's lessons go to waste if I don't practice._

Finally, he found himself growing tired and trekked back up to the dorm room. He noticed that dawn was rapidly approaching and sighed. _Better not go to sleep just yet,_ he thought. _Iffen I do, I'll just end up real tired durin' classes, an' that wouldn't do at all._

To keep himself busy, he retrieved the letter from James and read it again. _Wonder who these people are,_ he pondered for the umpteenth time. _Hmm… It says to contact this Lupin fella if I was left with those Dursley folks. Either him or that Black guy, but since the letter was still in the trunk, I s'pose _he's_ not around no more. Wonder if that Lupin fella is still alive?_ Harry made a decision, listening to that inner othersense. He got a piece of parchment and one of the quill pens he was slowly learning to use – his mom had spent the extra money needed to get ones he didn't have to dip in an inkwell. Harry chewed on his lip for a moment, thinking about what he wanted to say, then set pen to parchment.

_September 2, 1991  
Dear Mr. Lupin,_

_My name is Harry Brewer, though I was once known as Harry Potter. I recently found a letter from James Potter to either me or a man named Sirius Black. The letter mentions you and I was wondering why. Did you know my father?_

_The letter was in what I assume was James' old school trunk – it even says as much in the letter – and since it remained undisturbed, I assume that Mr. Black was unable for whatever reason to retrieve it. It says… Well, it says a lot of things, but I was curious. It told me that if I was left with some family called the 'Dursleys' to get a hold of you and show you the letter and run away with you. Do you know why? I wasn't left with them, though. I was adopted by my mom. Her name is Aurilia, and a couple of years later, she married my dad, Jim Brewer. I took his name when they married. They raised me on a horse-ranch in Iowa._

_If you would, could you please write back to me? I know a couple of the people here at Hogwarts – I just arrived – knew my real parents, but I don't quite trust the one, and the other has come right out and told me that he and James didn't get along. Since you were mentioned in the letter, I assume you knew my real parents._

_You can reach me at Hogwarts, or if it's during the holidays, I'll be at my home in Iowa. I'll include the address for you, as I don't know if an owl can deliver overseas. Thanks for your time, sir, and I really hope you will write back._

_Sincerely,  
Harry Brewer_

_P.S. Here's my address at home:_

_2093 Vermont Drive  
Hamilton, Iowa 50116  
U.S.A._

Harry figured that while he was writing letters, he may as well write a quick one to his folks and A.J., too.

_Hey A.J.,_

_This place is __huge__. I've only been here a couple of hours, and the distance from the cafeteria to my dorm alone is roughly the same distance from your house to mine! I'm kinda glad I'm not out-of-shape – there had to be three thousand stairs between my room and the door to the outside! My room is at the top of one of the towers. I was sorted into Gryffindor. My roommates are Dean Thomas, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Seamus Finnegan. Ron's pretty cool, he's got __five__ older brothers and a little sister. Two of his brothers are already done with school – one works with dragons! The oldest one still at school reminds me a lot of Casey Lewis. He's got the same attitude she does, only they apparently reward that here. He's a 'prefect' and helps enforce the rules. Ron's other brothers, though, are really cool. They're identical twins named Fred and George, and they talk like they're only one person._

_Everyone seems to have trouble with my last name, though. It looks like I owe you five bucks. I really __am__ famous. Though why I should be for something I don't even remember… Well, I guess I'll have to look into it in more detail later._

_There's this one kid here that's a complete ass, though. His name's Draco Malfoy. You know how I can sometimes just __tell__ when something's important or gonna happen? It kept warning me against him, though it didn't need to. He's an irritating little worm. I hope he leaves me alone, otherwise we'll have to see if I really did earn that green belt._

_I'll write more when I've got more to say, but right now I'm just trying to stay awake long enough to get over the jet-lag._

_See ya later,  
Harry_

His note to his mom was much shorter, merely stating that he'd arrived safely and seemed to be making friends. When all his letters were written, the sun was up and his roommates were beginning to stir. Neville yawned hugely and blearily got out of bed. "Where's the loo?" he muttered, not noticing that Harry was also awake.

"I 'spect it's through that door," Harry replied, causing Neville to jump and whirl around. "Careful, don't wanna hurt yourself," he grinned at the boy.

Neville returned the smile, "Thanks, Harry. You a morning person, too?"

Harry nodded, "Usually, yeah. Don't get much of a chance to sleep in on a farm. Too much work that needs done. But, I ain't been ta sleep yet. Still on Iowa time."

Neville nodded and made his way through the door that Harry had pointed out. He reemerged a couple of minutes later, dressed for the day. By that time, Dean and Seamus were also awake, though neither of them looked ready to get dressed any time soon. Ron continued snoring on his own bed. "Any idea when breakfast is?" Harry asked his awake roommates.

They shrugged. Neville thought for a moment, "Ah, Gran did tell me that breakfast is normally from seven to eight during the week and seven to nine on the weekends."

"It's just now half past six, though," Harry replied.

"If that's the case, it looks as if we've some time to kill," Dean said before opening his trunk and pulling out some posters of a soccer team and beginning to pin them up around his bed. Seamus headed towards the bathroom, and Neville cracked open one of their schoolbooks. Harry saw that it was the one on magical plants.

Harry grabbed his letters and put his hat back on. He also traded the robe for his denim jacket, as the morning air of the castle was slightly chilly. _Must be the elevation,_ he thought while descending to the common room. There were a couple of students awake and playing some sort of card game. Harry recognized one of them as the girl, Angelina, from the train the day before. "'Scuse me, Angelina?"

She looked up from the game that she and two other girls were playing. "Yes?"

"Don't mean ta interrupt, but where's the nearest post office? I've got a couple of letters to send."

She smiled, "The owlery is…" she sighed and got up from the table, walking over to a window. "See that tower over there?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah."

"Take your letters over there. One of the school owls will be able to deliver them for you. The school owls are easy to recognize, they all have a blue band on their ankles."

Harry grinned at the older girl, "Thanks, Angelina. Good luck on your game."

"You're welcome," she replied before returning to the game she was winning against Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet.

Harry had the relative location of the tower he was heading to fixed in his mind as he left Gryffindor Tower. He almost walked through Sir Nicholas when he exited the portrait. "Sorry!" he exclaimed. "I didn't see you there."

"It's quite all right," the ghost replied. "You're up awfully early, even for a school day. What's the occasion?"

"Actually, I ain't been ta sleep yet," Harry replied. "I'm tryin' ta get used to the time difference. You wouldn't be able to show me how to get to the owl-tower, would ya? I got a couple of letters to mail."

Sir Nicholas nodded, "Certainly, young Harry. Always happy to help a Gryffindor in need."

While the ghost showed Harry the shortest route from the tower to the owlery, Harry asked, "What's the difference between a ghost and a poltergeist?"

"Ah, met Peeves, have we?" Harry nodded in reply. Sir Nicholas thought for a moment, "Well, to start with, a ghost used to be alive. A poltergeist has never had the experience of life. They also have an easier time of manipulating physical objects."

"If they were never alive, then _what_ are they?"

"They are an expression of repressed emotions and untamed magic, quite common to areas with teenagers, simply due to the overabundance of emotion and half-trained magic available. Hogwarts is actually quite lucky that we only have Peeves. I heard that Durmstrang has several poltergeists."

The two of them paused, waiting for a staircase to make up its mind on whether it was going up or down. "You were a wizard when you were alive, right?"

Sir Nicholas nodded, "Yes, I was."

"Can only wizards become ghosts?" was his next question.

"Yes and no. Only magical beings can become ghosts, it doesn't necessarily have to be strictly a witch or wizard. There's the ghost of a veela out near Glastonbury."

They walked along in silence for a few minutes, then Harry's curiosity got the better of him. "Just why did you end up a ghost? I assume not every magical bein' becomes one, otherwise, there'd be nothin' but ghosts ev'rywhere."

"Astute observation, Harry," Sir Nicholas smiled. "Ghosts only become so if they have some sort of vital, unfinished business to attend to at the moment of their death."

"So…" Harry wasn't sure if it would be polite to ask, but he was really curious. "Um…"

"If you're wondering about my own 'unfinished business,' it will forever remain unfinished, young Harry." The ghost smiled sadly. "I never had children of my own, and so I came to Hogwarts after my death, in hopes that I might still have the chance to affect some of the young minds that came through here." They stopped just outside. "And, it appears as though you have reached your destination. Just cross the bridge, the owlery is at the top of the stairs. I trust you can remember your way back?"

Harry nodded, "I think so."

"Well, if you get lost, don't be afraid to ask any of us ghosts, or even the portraits – though their directions usually involve knowing where certain other portraits are located in the school."

"Thanks, Sir Nick," Harry said as he set off across the short bridge towards the tower.

Reaching the top of the owlery, Harry located the school owls with little difficulty. He wasn't sure what to do next, though. "Um…" he looked at the band on the owl's leg, "Horatio?" The owl bobbed his head. "If I give you two letters that go to the US, will they get there?" Harry felt a little silly talking to an owl, but the owl bobbed his head again. "The addresses are on the envelopes," he said, and held them out for the bird to take. The bird took them in his beak and flapped out a nearby window. Feeling a little less like a doofus, Harry asked the perch of remaining owls, "If I have a letter to someone who I don't know the address for, can you still take it to him?"

One of the owls fluttered down from her perch and landed on Harry's shoulder. "I'll take that as a 'yes.' He held up the letter to Lupin, "It goes to a guy by the name of Remus Lupin." She grabbed the letter and was out the window before Harry could thank her.

When Harry returned to Gryffindor tower, he and his roommates headed down to breakfast and their first day of classes.

Harry gratefully went to bed rather early that night. Just before his head hit his pillow, he realized he had been awake nearly thirty-six hours. Maybe it was because he was so tired when he went to bed, or maybe it was just fate, but his dreams were plagued by visions of Professor Quirrell's purple turban, with a hissing voice floating out of it, berating him for refusing greatness.

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**A/N2:** I hope everyone liked this Harry's interaction with the Sorting Hat. It took me forever to write that bit. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Here ya go! Another chapter recently beta'd by the fabulous Aurilia.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Snape  
**

The first few days of class, Harry and Ron were late twice; once to transfiguration, and once to herbology. After being late the second time, Harry mentioned to Ron that they should spend a couple of hours each night exploring the castle, at least until they had a better idea of where everything was. Neville, Dean, and Seamus soon joined them.

On Friday, Harry took a seat in the Great Hall between Seamus and Dean and across from Ron and Neville. "What we got today?" he asked between bites of sausage.

"Double potions with the Slytherins," Neville replied, looking at the schedule.

"Isn't that Snape fellow the head of Slytherin house?" Dean asked, pouring some honey into a bowl of oatmeal.

Harry nodded, "Yeah, he is. Wonder what his classes will be like?"

Ron shuddered melodramatically, "Fred and George said he's the absolute worst teacher here, that he favors the Slytherins and hates Gryffindors so much that he'll take points for _breathing._"

"Somehow, I doubt that," Harry said. "He's not the most likable guy I've met, but he didn't seem all _that_ bad. Could ya pass the syrup?"

Neville handed the small syrup pitcher to Harry. "I don't know about any of this. I just wish we had Herbology again today."

"That's just 'cause you like plants too much, Nev," Harry teased. "You remind me of my friend A.J. She's got a thing for plants, too. Mom loved it when she found out, though. Mom knows a lot about plants, says she learned it from her mom, an' 'til A.J. showed an interest, I though Mom was gonna try an' cram all her knowledge inta _me_."

The boys laughed a little and finished their breakfasts. Luckily, their explorations had paid off, and they located the potions classroom without too much difficulty. It would have been creepy enough just by virtue of being in the dungeons, but the creepy factor had been multiplied tenfold with the addition of slimy things floating in jars. Harry was pretty sure the one was a fetal pig – they'd dissected one in his TAG class the year before.

Like the rest of the teachers, Professor Snape began by taking roll-call. He paused when he reached Harry's name. "Ah… Mr. Brewer. Our new… celebrity." Alarmed at his tone, Harry reached out with his empathy. He was glad to see it was actually working like the book had said it should. The professor was slightly amused, and had a hint of a mischievous tint behind his scowl.

Draco Malfoy and his goons sniggered behind their hands and Harry suddenly realized that Professor Snape was playing some sort of elaborate game. _There's more goin' on here than I know 'bout_, Harry thought while Snape finished roll-call.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he addressed the class at large. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death. That is, if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Total silence followed this speech, which Harry was pretty sure the professor gave to all his first year classes. He shot a reassuring look at Ron. Ron merely looked a little confused and slightly intimidated. Hermione, who was sitting just in front of Harry, was on the edge of her seat. Since Harry had yet to pull back his empathy, he could tell she felt insulted by the professor's assumption that _she_ was a dunderhead.

"Brewer!" Snape said suddenly, causing no few of the students to jump. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry cast his mind back over to reading the potions books during the summer. "I think it's a sleeping potion, sir, but I don't recall which one." Hermione's hand was in the air even before Harry had finished his answer.

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. Harry felt that Snape was impressed that he'd managed to remember as much as he had. "Correct. It is known as the Draught of the Living Death. If one drinks it, their heartbeat and other vital signs slow to the point where only a highly-trained mediwitch is able to detect that they are, indeed, still among the living.

"Next question, Brewer. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry knew this one! In fact, the professor had shown him how to collect bezoars from his goat while he was visiting over the summer. "The stomach of a goat, sir," he replied, "It's an almost-universal anti-poison." If he wasn't already sure that the professor was playing with him, that question would have cinched it. He still didn't know why, and made a mental note to ask when class was over with.

"Showing off, Brewer? Fine," Snape's scowl deepened, and had Harry not been continually using his empathy on the professor, he would likely have been a little nervous at the expression. "What are the differences between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

It took all of Harry's acting ability to keep his grin from surfacing on his face, he'd not even had to learn that one from the books! His mom had taught him about monkshood. "You mean aconite, sir? Last I checked, they're the same plant." Several of the students tittered at that, however Snape wasn't pleased. At least, he didn't appear pleased, though Harry felt approval aimed his direction by the potions master.

"Two points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Brewer, though the answer is correct," Snape looked around the room. "Well? Why are none of you taking notes? And put your hand down, infernal child." The last comment was aimed at Hermione, who lowered her hand as if slapped.

The rest of potions class didn't go much better than the first portion. In Harry's opinion, Professor Snape was being unreasonably harsh to the Gryffindors, in addition to being overly lenient to the Slytherins. They were assigned to work in pairs on a simple potion to cure boils. Snape stalked around the classroom while they weighed dried nettles, crushed snake fangs, and stewed horned slugs. He criticized nearly everyone, Slytherin and Gryffindor alike, but no harsh words were aimed at Draco Malfoy. Harry wondered why. He was still using his empathy to track the teacher, and could tell that Snape wasn't really any happier with Malfoy's potion than he was with Hermione's.

Harry was just about to give in to his curiosity, consequences be damned, when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus' cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with a wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" Neville could only whimper in reply. "Take him to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus before rounding on Harry and Ron. They had been working at the table next to Neville and Seamus. "You, Brewer, why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he would make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another three points you've lost for Gryffindor, and I expect to see you after class."

More certain than ever that Snape was up to something, Harry closed his drooping jaw with an audible click and ground out a suitably angered, "Yes, sir."

Ron looked as though he wanted to argue with the potions master, but Harry caught his eye as the teacher stalked away. "Don't, Ron. Something's going on. I dunno what, but I intend ta find out."

Ron nodded, "If you say so, Harry. Don't worry too much about the points. It's less than Fred and George lose in any given day from _any_ of the teachers. I don't think anyone else in the house will even notice the difference."

In truth, the house points were the last thing on his mind. He and Ron returned to their potion, finishing it up and bottling it. They had just finished cleaning up their workstation – not that there was a whole lot to do, as Harry had been cleaning up as they worked, just like any time he helped his mom or cooked – when the bells rang to signal the end of class. Ron and Dean paused at the door long enough to give Harry sympathetic glances before heading for the Great Hall and their waiting lunch. When they were safely out of earshot, and the classroom suitably empty, Harry spun on his heel to face Snape. "Pardon the language, sir, but what the _hell_ is going on?" Harry didn't shout it, but it was a near thing. "You're up ta somethin' an' it involves that Malfoy boy, I know it."

Snape calmly sat on the edge of his desk, looking through the bottles of potions that had been handed in. He nonchalantly aimed his wand at the door and murmured an incantation Harry couldn't quite hear. "Indeed, Mr. Brewer, I am, as you so aptly put it, 'up to something.' Firstly, though, I had a question for you: Why are you not in Slytherin where you belong?"

Harry snorted, "I belong there 'bout as much as sunblock belongs on a bat. I mean, you _know_ Draco, right? Runty little weasel, spouts off at the mouth to folks he ought not ta?"

Snape shrugged, "Perhaps you have a point, though I was unaware one could tell the Sorting Hat 'no' to the house in which it wished to place a student."

"Mayhap no one thought ta argue with it before," Harry replied, leaning against one of the work tables. "But you were 'bout ta explain what was goin' on in class…?"

"Indeed." Snape sat the bottle he was inspecting down on the tray on his desk. "What do you know of the Dark Lord?"

Harry sighed, "More than I want to – hell, you an' Dumbledore were who _told_ me 'bout him, iffen y'all forgot! – but I 'spect it's less than I'm gonna end up with. You don't think he's really gone for good, do ya?"

Snape merely shook his head. "No, Mr. Brewer, I did not forget and I do not believe he is 'gone for good.' However, it is not simply an assumption or conjecture on my part. There is evidence he was not banished for good, if one knows where to look."

"Why're ya tellin' me?" Harry asked, honestly curious. "I know that somehow I was the reason behind him disappearin', but…" Suddenly the prophesy from his father's letter surfaced in his mind. He sat down, rather heavily, on a nearby stool. "It's 'bout that prophesy, ain't it?"

Snape's gaze narrowed at the question, "How do you know about that?"

Harry took a deep breath and slowly released it. "When Mom an' Uncle Dave took me ta Diagon, we went ta Gringotts, an' I signed a bunch of paperwork namin' Mom an' Dad as my guardians. We got to visit one of the vaults, an' I found a really cool trunk. It had this room inside it, an' sittin' on the desk was a letter from my father. The prophesy was one of the things he talked 'bout."

Snape raised a hand to his temple as though he had a headache. "Yes, the prophesy does have something to do with what I wanted to discuss, but you were not to have known about it…" he trailed off. "We will speak again, Brewer, once I have thought this through some more. Go to lunch."

Rather disappointed that none of his questions had been answered, Harry headed to the meal. When Ron asked him what the 'slimy git' wanted, Harry quickly made up a story of being lectured for showing off and inattentiveness to his classmates, mentally thanking the professor for the plausible and ready-made excuse.

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**A/N2:** Thanks for taking the time to read this figment of my rather quirky imagination. It makes me feel better to know that it's at least a little enjoyable for others. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone for reading! I think I love you all!

* * *

**Chapter Four: Words and Music  
**

Their classes progressed with surprising monotony after the first few weeks, and the aborted conversation with Snape fell into the back of Harry's mind, along with the feeling that something big was brewing just over the horizon and his knowledge of the prophesy. Between essays, avoiding Malfoy, and his excitement about the upcoming flying lessons, Harry had enough on his plate. So it was almost a complete surprise when, on the first Saturday of October, Harry received a response to his letter from Remus Lupin.

"What's that?" Dean asked, "Another letter from A.J.?" When he'd told his roommates about his friend and how they'd promised to exchange their respective knowledge of spells, the other boys had gotten into the spirit of things and made their own contributions to the weekly correspondence. A.J. was thrilled to have pen-pals other than Harry.

"No, it's from someone else," Harry replied, breaking the wax seal and opening the letter.

"Who?" asked Ron.

"Tell ya later," Harry replied, crunching on an apple and wandering away to read his letter in peace.

_1 October, 1991  
Dear Harry,_

_Pardon the lateness of my reply, but I must admit to no small amount of shock upon receiving your owl. To answer your questions; Yes, I did know your parents. James and I were good friends, and later, when James and Lily got together, I got to know her rather well, too._

_As to the Dursleys… I met them once, at Lily and James' wedding. Petunia Dursley is your mother's older sister, and she's one of the most unpleasant women I have ever had the misfortune to meet. From what I remember, she and your mother never really got along all that well, and there was a longstanding resentment on the part of your aunt because your mother was a witch and she wasn't. I would assume that James didn't want you to be brought up in a home where you would likely be resented for your magical nature._

_You mentioned that you found a letter from James in his old school trunk? Was it in the blue one or the red one? I would ask if I could see it, but I realize you've no reason to trust that I would return it – which I would – as you don't actually know me. I will not ask you to part with something so precious. You no doubt have few enough mementos of your family that asking for even one would be a supreme act of selfishness on my part. Instead, I will simply say that I will be happy to answer any questions you may have about your mother and father._

_Sincerely,_

_Remus J. Lupin_

"Hmm…" Harry mused aloud, then realized he was still in the corridors. Not precisely the best place to be thinking aloud, especially if he went with that little tingle that said not to let Dumbledore know of his correspondence with Lupin. Since it was Saturday, there were no classes, so he headed up to his dorm to pen a response.

_October 6, 1991  
Dear Mr. Lupin,_

_Thanks for replying to my last letter. I have to admit that I had almost forgotten that I'd written you, but I've been really busy lately, learning a lot in the classes and whatnot. Did you go to school with James, then? Or were you a friend outside of school? (And that letter I found was in a blue trunk. How many trunks like that did James own?)_

_If you want to see the letter, I don't mind. (Yes, I caught that request in your letter.) The fact that you think I wouldn't let you see it makes me think you're trustworthy enough to hold it a while. Since you knew about James' trunk – which I'm using as my own school trunk – what do you know about the books in that room it contains? There are a bunch of books in German, others in French, some in Latin, and still others in Spanish. That's in addition to all the ones in English. I can read the English ones, of course, and the Spanish, but I'm not that great with Latin or French, and the only German I know are insults and the swear-words. (You can thank Mom for that!)_

_This next part will sound a little nuts, and if you think I'm crazy after reading it, then I'll understand why. For some reason, even though I've not met you, I trust you. I find myself in the middle of something of a mystery, and am unable to get the answers I want on my own. I'm going to trust you enough to tell you what I've seen, and I hope you won't think I'm too nuts to think on it and give me your opinion. None of my friends would really understand what's going on, and I don't know if I can trust the teachers to give me a straight answer._

_Firstly, Professor Snape (He teaches potions. If you don't know him, let me know and I'll write more about him in another letter.) was one of the people who came to my house this summer to tell me I was a wizard. At first, he acted like a real prig, but we ended up talking a couple of days after he arrived, and got to know each other a little bit. He explained that he was having a little difficulty differentiating me from James, because we looked so much alike, and he and James didn't get along. Once he started trying to get past that, he wasn't… friendly, exactly… so much as easier to be around. Somehow, I don't think that he's __ever__ friendly. Anyway, he gave me a bunch of book recommendations and showed me a couple of things related to potions while he was at my place. When I came to school, though, he acted as if we'd never met before, at least, in class. He was back to being a prig. When he held me after class, I asked him what was going on, and he started to tell me about Voldemort, but decided not to at the last minute. All I really got out of him was that he has some sort of proof that Voldemort's not gone for good._

_Secondly, during dinner the first night at Hogwarts, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor – some guy by the name of Quirrell – met my eyes and the scar on my forehead from the night Voldemort disappeared hurt. I don't know if it was a coincidence or not, but I'm leaning towards 'not.' He doesn't acknowledge me in class unless he absolutely __has__ to and he has __never__ met my eyes since that first night. Sound suspicious? I think so._

_Thirdly, there's this boy by the name of Draco Malfoy who seems bent on making me his enemy. On the first night here, he said, and I quote, __"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter, unless you're a bit more polite, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either." He either can't or __won't__ accept that my last name is __Brewer__ and has been for almost seven years, but it was that last comment that really sticks in my mind. What would he know about my parents, and why would he say something like that?_

_Lastly, and I don't know if __any__ of these things are related, or if I'm just seeing things that aren't there, during the start-of-term announcements, Dumbledore told everyone that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side was out-of-bounds for anyone who didn't want to "die a very painful death." Fred and George Weasley – two of the people I was sitting next to, said that the warning was unusual because Dumbledore usually explains __why__ a particular rule exists. They used the reasoning behind why we're not to go into the forest as an example._

_I know it sounds completely nuts, and I should probably invest in a straight-jacket, but I can't help but think that all these things are interconnected. Oh, and that's not even bringing the prophesy into it. I'm sending along James' letter, read it next, and you'll see what I mean._

_I should probably go now, I haven't finished up my History of Magic homework yet, and I'd rather not leave it until the last minute like some of my friends._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry_

_P.S. What do you know about something called the 'Animagus Transformation?' One of the Latin books in the trunk is about it, but I'm not doing very well at translating it. Some of the conjugations of the words make it impossible to locate the root in a dictionary. -H.P.  
_

Harry posted his letter with the same owl who had taken his last one. He returned to his room to finish up his essay on Emetic the Evil for Professor Binns. He had finished it and was practicing with his guitar when his dorm mates returned from wherever it was they'd been for most of the morning. "I didn't know you knew an instrument," Dean said when they entered the room.

Harry shrugged, "I know two, actually. This an' the piano, but I dunno if there's a piano here to practice on. I really need to find one, or else Sarah – she's the one who taught me – is gonna be angry that I got rusty. My uncle Dave is who taught me the guitar." He looked up from the strings. "Any of you play anythin'?"

Neville and Ron shook their heads, but Seamus and Dean nodded. "I taught myself how to play the drums," Seamus said.

"And I know how to play bass – the guitar-style one, not the orchestral one," Dean said.

Harry chuckled. "Too bad y'all don't got them with ya, else we could start a band," he grinned at his roommates.

Ron laughed at that, "That's not a half-bad idea," he admitted. "I always wanted to learn how to play something. Bill can play a wood flute – so can Charlie, but they learned how from our grandfather who died before I was born."

"What about you, Nev?" Harry asked.

"Gran thought it was a better use of my time to take dancing lessons," Neville admitted.

Harry winced, remembering how close he came to sharing Neville's fate, "That's rough, mi amigo. Did you want to learn an instrument, though?"

Neville shrugged, "I don't think it would be a good idea. I'd be too afraid of breaking it, whatever it was."

Harry let the topic drop for the time-being. He suddenly remembered that Dumbledore had really liked listening to him play over the summer. _Mayhap the headmaster will know where a piano is… an' I'm pretty sure I can find another guitar to start showin' Ron how to play. An' an acoustic bass for Dean, unless Dumbledore also knows how to make an electric one run here._ "Would you play something for us, Harry?" Neville asked, removing the group's attention from himself and putting it back on Harry.

"Whacha wanna hear?"

The other four boys piled onto Ron's bed, which was next to Harry's. "Anything," Ron replied.

Harry thought for a minute, then started playing _Romanza_, a classical guitar piece that, though repetitive, was rather pretty, and sounded great on an acoustic. When he finished, he saw expectant faces, so he improvised a connecting few notes and played Bach's _Bourrée in E minor_. "That was really good," Seamus said when the last note faded, "but don't you know anything with _words_?"

Harry laughed, "Sure do, but I'm not a real great singer."

"Do you know _Blue Moon_?" Dean asked.

Harry nodded, "Yeah, it's one of the oldies progression, the first thing Dave taught me."

"Good," Dean grinned, "because I know all the words for that one. You play, I'll sing." Harry chuckled and counted off, then began the simple four-chord progression. Dean could sing, which surprised Harry, and soon had the whole group singing along.

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**A/N2:** Smile. I like this chapter. I don't have the urge to completely rewrite it, like I do with so many of my others. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** I've tried uploading this for most of the last two days - has anyone else been having difficulty with ffn?

* * *

**Chapter Five: Flying Lessons  
**

The Thursday after Harry had played for his roommates was their first flying lesson, and when Harry read the notice in the common room he groaned loud enough for Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville to hear. They came over to see what Harry had groaned at. "What's wrong," Neville asked.

"Flyin' lessons start tomorrow," Harry replied.

"Excellent!" Ron almost shouted. "I was wondering when they'd start!"

"Hold up, Ron," Harry shook his head, "We've got the lessons with the Slytherins."

The other four boys groaned. "Isn't that just wonderful?" Seamus muttered.

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, a dark expression on his face. "Just what I always wanted, to make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

Seamus shrugged, "It's really not all that hard, Harry. Besides, I'm betting all that bragging that Malfoy's been doing is just talk."

Dean nodded in agreement, "Seamus is right, it probably _is_ all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first-years never getting on the house quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping muggles in helicopters. Harry sighed, "Yeah, y'all're prob'ly right. Dunno how most of what he claims t've done is even possible. Thought there were laws about doin' magic in front of muggles?"

"That's a good point," Neville said, recalling the same long-winded story Malfoy had told at breakfast. "He's probably making the entire thing up."

"I rode my brother Charlie's broom a couple of times," Ron said, "What about you?"

"I had a toy broom from the time I could walk," Seamus replied. "Mum's completely quidditch-mad, and played professionally for a few years after she got done with school, before she met Dad."

Dean shrugged, "I didn't even know it was possible until I came here. What about you, Nev?"

Neville just shook his head, "No, never been on a broom before. Gran wouldn't let me."

Harry laughed, "Y'know, she may've had a point, Nev. You _are_ kinda clumsy."

Neville blushed at the good-natured teasing, "At least I don't sound like an idiot when I talk," he returned.

Snorting, Harry straightened up and cleared his throat. He smirked at his friends and, mimicking Malfoy's British accent, complete with superior drawl, he said, "It isn't that I _can't_ speak properly, it's more that I don't _want _to. Besides, back home, most of the people I know talk like I do."

Seamus' jaw dropped open, "Don't do that! That's bloody creepy!"

Harry dropped the accent, "Yeah, I know. Mom says I'm a mimic – that I tend ta start talkin' like folks I'm around a lot. I'm noticin' that I'm startin' to do that here."

"Sorry, but I don't think we've noticed," Dean said looking around at the other boys.

Harry shrugged, "Don't worry about it too awful much. C'm on, let's go finish up our homework."

The five Gryffindor first-years trekked across the common room towards the staircase to their room. They passed Hermione Granger, sitting on a sofa in her typical posture – nose buried in a book. Harry snickered when he saw that she was reading Quidditch Through the Ages. He paused, and since the rest of the boys were behind him, they stopped, too. "Y'know, Hermione, I don't reckon that book's gonna help ya all that much," he said.

Hermione jumped, startled by suddenly being addressed. She peered up at him, "What makes you say that?"

"I've read it. It's just about quidditch. All the rules, fouls, famous players from history, and how the game evolved. There are a couple of moves described, but they're all pretty advanced, or so I assume. There ain't a single page of tips for someone who ain't been on a broom before."

Hermione scoffed, "Somehow, I doubt that."

Harry shook his head, "Fine," he said, shrugging. "Just tryin' to help."

Setting the book aside after marking her place, she got to her feet, "And just why would I need – or want – your help? Quite frankly, I'm surprised that you're even here, but then again, so are those two morons in Slytherin, Crabbe and Goyle."

Harry's eyebrows rose, "You mean you think I'm stupid?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, "That is _precisely_ what I think."

Smirking, Harry quoted, "'Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter: an old man, sir, and his wits are not so blunt as, God help, I would desire they were; but, in faith, honest as the skin between his brows.' I take it that's more-or-less whacha think of me?"

Hermione looked a little surprised before stubbornly squaring her shoulders, "No, Brewer, what I think of you is more along the lines of 'A primrose by a river's brim, a yellow primrose was to him, and it was nothing more.'"

"In that case, Hermione, lemme leave you with what I think of you, 'As headstrong as an allegory on the banks of the Nile.' Oh, and a bit of advice, 'But optics sharp it needs, I ween, to see what is not to be seen.'" He bowed mockingly and headed up to his room, the other boys close behind.

"What was that all about?" Seamus asked.

Harry couldn't answer, he was laughing too hard. "Harry, mate, you all right?" Ron asked.

Before long Harry caught his breath. "I think I shocked her, but, damnit, she's really too stubborn for her own good."

"Going to explain what that was all about?" Dean asked, getting out his homework for Charms.

Harry shrugged, "She called me stupid. Now, I may be a backwater hick from one of the smallest schools in Iowa, but I ain't _stupid_. A little crazy, mayhap, but that's aside the point. I couldn't let the insult slide."

Neville located his Potions notes and set to memorizing, "So, to prove her wrong, you quoted Shakespeare to her? Something from 'Much Ado,' unless I'm completely misremembering what Auntie Enid taught me."

Harry nodded, "Yeah. However, she really is stubborn. So she quoted Wordsworth's _Peter Bell_ back at me, basically sayin' that I was nothing more than I appeared. So, I called her stubborn and told her she needed to realize that not ev'rythin' is what it seems."

Ron chuckled at that, "You know, I used to think that it was just girls who were incomprehensible, but you're making me think I was wrong. Now, I think it's smart people in general."

Harry shrugged, "No, you were right the first time, it's just that I've got experience in de-coding girl-speak. My best friend is a girl, and she's been translating for me ever since I was five. After a while, you start to learn what they mean." With that, Harry pulled out his transfiguration text and started re-reading the chapter from the day before.

The next morning at breakfast, the five boys were chattering excitedly about the forthcoming flying lesson, "You never said if you'd been on a broom before, Harry," Seamus said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Harry shook his head, "I ain't been on a broom before, but I have been flyin'."

Ron swallowed a gulp of pumpkin juice, "Really?" he asked eagerly. "Flying carpet, then? Are they not illegal in the States?"

Harry laughed, "No, not a flying carpet. If I didn't learn about the magic world 'til this summer, then how would I have the chance to fly on _anythin'_ magical?"

Dean snapped his fingers, "That's right! You would have taken a plane when you moved to the States."

Harry nodded, "Yeah, we did, but I don't really remember all that much about the flight. No, last year, I took some classes and got my pilot's license for light aircraft. My birthday present that summer was an ultralight."

"What's an ultralight?" Ron asked at the same time that Dean exclaimed, "Wicked!" and Hermione, who, for some unknown reason, was sitting at the edges of their group, said, "Prove it."

"It's like a motorized hang-glider, an' mine can seat two people," Harry answered Ron's question as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket. He flipped it open and handed it over to Hermione. Hermione looked at the little picture ID and the wingpin pinned to a flap on the other side of it. She handed the wallet back, slightly pink, and extremely quiet.

The boys exclaimed over the license while the post owls arrived. Harry received A.J.'s newest letter, a note from his mom and dad, and a response from Lupin. A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke. "It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things. This tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this, and if it turns red –" his face fell as the smoke in the Remembrall suddenly glowed scarlet, "you've forgotten something..."

Harry patted Neville's shoulder, "Don't worry about it, Nev. If it's important, you'll remember when ya need to." Neville sighed and was about to put the Remembrall into his pocket when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Harry jumped to his feet. Ever since that first night, Harry had been half-hoping for an excuse to hand Malfoy's ass to him on a silver platter, but Professor McGonagall, who had an unerring ability to spot trouble brewing, was already there. "What is going on?" she asked.

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, ma'am," Neville spoke up.

"Just looking," Draco scowled, dropping the marble back into Neville's upturned hand. He and his two goons quickly disappeared. McGonagall returned to the teacher's table.

At three-thirty that afternoon, the Gryffindors hurried down the front steps of the castle. Their first flying lesson was to be held, not on the quidditch pitch, like Harry had assumed, but in a clear field just behind the school. Harry shivered a little, glad that he'd worn his denim jacket under his robes. It was a clear and sunny day, but the pleasant view was misleading. A chilly breeze blew, rippling tree branches and grass.

When the Gryffindors arrived, they found that the Slytherins were already there. Harry figured that meant that their common room was closer than that of Gryffindor. There were twenty of the school brooms laying in two neat lines. The flying instructor, Madam Hooch, was standing at one end of the double line. She reminded Harry of a grey hawk, with short, flyaway gray hair and piercing yellow eyes. "Everyone stand by a broom," she shouted.

Harry and the other boys took the five brooms furthest from Malfoy, which meant that they were voluntarily closest to the teacher. He'd listened to Fred and George during lunch complaining about the low quality of the school brooms. Harry looked at the broom he was standing next to and could see what they meant. It was very old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch said, "and say 'Up!'"

Following her instructions, everyone did as they were told. Harry's broom had smacked into his hand hard enough to sting. His was only one of a few that had, though. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground – something Harry was hard-pressed not to laugh at – and Neville's hadn't moved at all. _Mayhap they're like horses an' can tell if you're afraid,_ Harry thought, then turned his attention back to Madam Hooch. She showed them how to mount their brooms and the proper grip to use. Harry and Neville shared a grin when she told Malfoy he had been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle. Three, two," But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips. "Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a model rocket. Ten feet, then twenty. Harry could see Neville's scared, white face look down at the ground falling away. Though he couldn't hear it, he could tell Neville gasped and then he slipped sideways off the broom. He landed with a sickening thud and a cracking noise, face down on the grass. Madam Hooch hurried over to Neville, as she passed Harry, he could hear her mutter, "There has to be one every year," She bent over Neville. She helped him get to his feet. Harry couldn't hear what she'd whispered to him, but she addressed the class. "None of you are to move while I take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing, or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'quidditch.'" With that, she led Neville into the castle.

As soon as they were gone, Malfoy burst into laughter. "Did you see his face, the great lump?" The other Slytherins joined in his amusement.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil, one of the Gryffindor girls.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, from where she stood near Draco. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Why doncha hand that here, Krätze, an' I won't hafta hurt ya," Harry's voice was cold, icy even, and everyone stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily, "As if you could, _Potter_. I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find. The roof, maybe." He jumped on his broomstick and took off. Harry realized that Malfoy hadn't been boasting _too_ much – he really did know how to fly.

Harry grabbed his broom to follow Malfoy who was now tossing the Remembrall from one hand to another, while he hovered at a height of roughly thirty feet. "What's the matter, _Potter_? Scared of heights?"

Harry growled, the noise sounding exactly like that of a rather large and mean dog, "You wish, Krätze." He kicked off.

"No!" shouted Hermione from her place on the ground. "Madam Hooch told us not to move! You'll get us all into trouble!"

Harry ignored her. He wasn't about to let Malfoy's insult slide. Though nothing at all like flying his ultralight, he realized that piloting a broom was at once both easier and harder; easier in that it was nearly instinctual, and harder because he had to maintain the same balance he had on a bicycle. With his blood pounding in anger, he pulled the broomstick up to bring him even with Malfoy. "Give it here, Krätze, or you'll find out just how hard the ground really is."

To Harry's delight, the little worm was actually looking worried, though the brat covered it quickly. "Oh really? And just how would I learn that?"

"'Cause I'll knock you off that damn thing," Harry replied.

"I'd like to see you try."

Harry grinned evilly at the challenge and plastered himself along the length of the broom's handle, just like when he rode his bike down a long hill. The broom shot forward like an arrow, directly at Malfoy. Harry had the pleasure of seeing Draco's smirk fall as he scrambled to get out of the way. Harry twirled the broom in an about-face and heard faint applause from the ground. "Gonna give it back, Malfoy, or are you _tryin'_ ta piss me off? There ain't no goons up here ta help ya, Krätze."

The same thought had obviously struck Draco. He smiled evilly and shouted, "Catch it if you can, then!" and hurled the little glass ball towards the stone wall of the castle before diving back towards the ground and his waiting sycophants.

Harry watched the little ball make a smooth arc through the air. Picking a spot on its decent, he streaked towards where he thought it would fall. Screams from some of the girls on the ground competed with the sound of the wind rushing past his face. Simultaneously pulling back on the broom and reaching out with his right hand, he halted in midair and the Remembrall landed in his fist. He stepped nimbly off of the hovering broom – he was only a couple of inches off the ground at that point.

"HAROLD BREWER!" an enraged shout echoed off the castle walls. Harry's throat seized up as all the blood drained from his face. He'd been caught. And by Professor McGonagall, at that. He calmly sat the broom on the ground and turned around. She was hurrying across the yard. "Never in all my time at Hogwarts… How dare you…? You might have broken your neck!"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor –"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil."

"But Malfoy –"

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Brewer, follow me," she snatched the Remembrall out of Harry's hand.

Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as he left, walking in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. "Ma'am?" he tried to get her attention, but she didn't even look his way. Harry chewed on his lip as he hurried after her. He nodded to himself and reached out with his empathy. What he found was surprising, to say the least. The professor was angry, true, but she was also excited. _Huh?_ Harry wondered, _The anger I can understand, but excited? That don't make sense._ He mused on the strange combination of emotions as McGonagall led him through the corridors. She stopped just outside the Charms classroom and knocked before poking her head through the door.

"Could I borrow Wood for a moment, Professor Flitwick?" she asked. They were shortly joined by a brunette fifth-year boy that Harry vaguely recalled seeing in the common room a time or two. He eyed Harry curiously. "Follow me, you two." They followed her a short ways to an empty classroom. She shut the door securely after they had entered and turned to face the two boys. "Brewer, this is Oliver Wood. Wood, I've found you a seeker."

Oliver's expression melted from puzzlement to delight. "Seriously, Professor?"

She nodded, "Absolutely. I've never seen anything like it, he's a natural. That was your first time on a broomstick, wasn't it, Brewer?" Harry nodded silently. He recognized the term 'seeker' as one of the quidditch positions, but he had yet to comprehend exactly what the professor was saying. McGonagall held up the Remembrall, "He caught this after a fifty-foot dive," she said. "Didn't even scratch himself. Stopped right where it was going to land, and plucked it out of midair. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood now looked as though all his birthdays had come at once, with no few of his Christmases thrown in for good measure. "He's just the build for a seeker, too. Light, speedy… He'll need a decent broom, Professor. Cleansweep Seven, or the like."

McGonagall nodded, "I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..." She peered at Harry over her glasses. "I want to hear you've been training hard, Brewer, or I may change my mind about punishing you." She smiled. "Your father would have been proud, he was an excellent quidditch player himself."

Slightly puzzled for a moment, Harry suddenly realized she meant James, not his dad. He shook his head and watched as the professor and Wood left. There wasn't enough time left for him to get back to the flying lessons, so he headed towards the Tower and his waiting letters. He opened the one from his parents first. It simply thanked him for remembering to write, reminded him that he had permission from the headmaster to floo them any time, and told him that he had special permission to go home for Thanksgiving weekend in November. It also said that they had a surprise for him, but that he'd have to wait until Thanksgiving before learning what it was. His letter from A.J. detailed a couple of cleaning and cooking charms that Nana had taught her and said that the seventh-grade classes were dull, covering things they had already gone over in TAG, but she wouldn't get the chance to enter the advanced classes until eighth grade. The letter from Lupin was rather thick, and when he opened it, he noticed that Remus had returned James' letter with his. Harry kicked back on his bed and read the letter with growing unease.

_9 October, 1991  
Dear Harry,_

_I find myself astonished at the implications of your last letter, as well as the implications of the letter from James. So much in shock am I, that I find myself not knowing quite where to begin. I believe I shall address the items of lesser importance before going into the major issues._

_Firstly, yes, I went to school with your father. We were both Gryffindors and in the same year, along with two other boys by the names of Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black. James went through four trunks in the time we were at Hogwarts. His first one was a normal, unenchanted trunk, and was lost in a fire in our room – Sirius had been messing about with conjuring bluebell flames and it got out of hand. The second one was stolen during our third year. We received a ransom note for it, but were unable to determine who stole it or where the trunk ended up. The third one was bright red, and had several safety features built into it. James got the blue one just before our seventh year, saying that the red one wasn't big enough to hold all his books. Personally, I think he just wanted something that wasn't Gryffindor colors, and blue had always been his favorite color. If memory serves, the trunk is made from dragonhide._

_Secondly, the majority of the books in the hide-a-room are on topics not taught at Hogwarts, so if you read them, it would be best not to let anyone see you doing so. Many of the topics are of dubious legality in Britain, though that may not be the case in other countries. On a related note, in response to your postscript, the animagus transformation is the highest level of transfiguration attainable. Peter, Sirius, and your father mastered it by the end of our fifth year, for reasons I am reluctant to pen in a letter. There is a spell that will help you translate any of the languages you don't know, instructions for it should be in James' __Standard Book of Spells (grade three)__, though when we were in school, it wasn't actually taught to us, it __is__ available. I don't know if they removed it from later editions, but if you saved all of James' books, then you should have access to it. I don't know what page it was on, but it will be listed in the index._

_After reading the letters you sent, and giving the topic much thought, I have no doubt that you're completely sane. You are not jumping at shadows – something is going on, something that concerns Voldemort. I'm going to tell you a story, Harry, and forgive me if I go over something you already know._

_During the time your father and I were at Hogwarts in the 1970's, a wizard began systematically terrorizing and killing people who, though part of the wizarding world, were not 'pureblooded.' Pureblood is a relative term in this instance, where any given person has no muggle ancestry; magical creatures like veela didn't count. He became so fearsome that people became afraid to use his name, referring to him only as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Now, on Halloween night of 1981, for reasons that I was unaware of at the time, the wizard located your parents and killed them. He tried to kill you, too, if Albus Dumbledore and the newspapers of the time are to be believed, but somehow, the curse rebounded off of you, leaving you with nothing but a scar. The wizard completely disappeared. Not even the aurors could track him. It was commonly believed that he was finished for good by that rebounding curse._

_What I've written so far is the tale as its known in the history books. Some additional information that isn't in the books is as follows: Lily and James knew that You-Know-Who was after them. In reading James' letter, I now know it was because of the prophesy. They went into hiding, using a specialized charm to hide their location. If you want more information on the charm, look up 'Fidelius Charm' in the library. The short version of the definition is that the charm seals a secret into the very soul of a living person. Everyone, myself included, believed that Sirius was James' and Lily's Secret-Keeper. In order for You-Know-Who to have found your family, the Secret-Keeper had to have revealed their location voluntarily, as torture won't work on someone using the Fidelius. _

_What's really tragic in this instance is that Sirius has been in Azkaban ever since mid-afternoon of November 1, 1981. As the papers reported, Peter Pettigrew tracked down Sirius the morning after your parents were killed and – among several dozen muggle witnesses – began to rant about how Sirius had betrayed your family. It was reported that Sirius cursed Peter, killing him and twelve of the muggle bystanders. After reading what James had to say, I'm no longer so sure what happened. The only thing I know for sure is that Peter disappeared that day, and all they found of him was the little finger off his left hand. I suspect that it was Peter, himself, who caused the explosion that killed the muggles, and disappeared through his animagus form. He was a rat, and now I can say that it was both figuratively and literally. Unfortunately, without some sort of hard evidence as to what happened that morning, Sirius will remain in Azkaban. Locating Peter would be best, but I won't hold my hopes up for that. It would be too much of a miracle._

_As to Severus Snape, I have to admit to being a little surprised that he's teaching at Hogwarts, though the subject he teaches doesn't surprise me one bit. He was a Slytherin in my year, and the animosity between him and your father and Sirius was of epic proportions. I tried to stay out of it, but something happened at the end of our fifth year that made me pay more attention to it. All I will say on it is that your father ended up saving Severus' life that night, and if you want to know more, you will have to talk to Severus, as it's not my tale to tell, despite my part in what happened. Also, Severus worked for Albus Dumbledore during the first rise of Voldemort, as a spy in the ranks of the Death Eaters. If he has reason to believe that Voldemort is not, in fact, gone, then I would believe him._

_This Draco character sounds like he's about the right age to be Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy's son. Narcissa and Sirius are cousins, and she was several years ahead of us at Hogwarts. Shortly after completing school, she was married to Lucius. There are few families as old as the Malfoy family, and they pride themselves on being 'pureblooded.' The Blacks, Potters, Weasleys, and Parkinsons are all nearly as old, followed by the Longbottoms, Turpins, Patils, and Diggorys. If you really want more information, check a book on wizarding genealogy in the library. During Voldemort's first rise to power, Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, though when he fell, Lucius claimed to be under the imperius curse the entire time. Personally, I think he bought his way out of prison, but no one can prove it. It sounds as though he's raising Draco to echo his absurd ideals on blood purity. His comment to you at the welcoming feast is proof enough of that._

_I agree with your comment about your DADA professor being suspicious, and I can't help but feel that it is somehow connected to whatever Dumbledore has cooking concerning the third floor. If it's as important as he's indicated, your best bet for getting more information would be Hagrid. He's a likeable enough man, but can't keep a secret to save his soul. You will have to be a little sneaky about it, though, as you won't want to alert Hagrid to your real reason for befriending him. I hate to say it, but to get to the bottom of this, you'll need to think like a Slytherin. If you __are__ a Slytherin, I apologize for the implied insult. That was not my intention. But you mentioned sitting near a couple of Weasleys in your last letter, and that entire family has been in Gryffindor for generations._

_My thoughts on the prophesy itself… are alarming, to say the least. I trust you've not told anyone else about it? I would also advise learning as much as you can, Harry. If the prophesy and our assumptions about the state of things prove correct, you will have to face Voldemort at some point, and he isn't a wizard to be trifled with. I don't wish to scare you with all of this, but… You asked for my honest opinion, therefore it would be an insult to give you anything less._

_I hope this letter finds you well, and that I have managed to answer all of your concerns. I also look forward to the time we may be able to meet in person._

_Sincerely,  
Remus J. Lupin_

Harry held of on writing a response for the time being and put the letter in the desk in his hide-a-room. He left A.J.'s letter out where his friends could read it and set about penning their own responses. He was in the middle of his homework for Professor Flitwick when his roommates returned from flying lessons. "So…" Dean started to ask something, but stopped in mid-sentence.

Realizing what he was referring to, Harry shook his head, "I ain't in trouble."

Four shocked expressions greeted him. "How's that?" Ron asked.

Harry grinned, "Do you know Oliver Wood?"

Ron and Seamus nodded. "He's the quidditch captain this year, isn't he?" Seamus asked.

Harry nodded, "Yeah. McGonagall took me to see him. Apparently, I'm his new seeker."

"You're joking." Ron's mouth was hanging open.

"Blimey, you must be the youngest quidditch player in a century," Seamus exclaimed just as Neville scratched his head, "But I thought that first-years weren't allowed."

Harry shrugged, "I guess they're makin' an exception."

Ron whooped, "Fred and George will be thrilled – they're on the team, too. Beaters."

In celebration, the boys retrieved their various stashes of candy and improvised a little party that lasted until dinner. They sat in their customary group at the end of the Gryffindor table, and Hermione joined them shortly after sitting down. Harry still didn't know why the girl was intent on following them around, but as long as she kept her mouth shut, he didn't mind. They had just started eating when Fred and George entered the hall and spotted Harry. "Well done," George said in a low voice.

"Wood just told us," Fred spoke in the same low tones.

"He wants it kept secret for now…"

"…and we know because we're beaters on the team…"

"We're sure to win the cup this year…"

"…especially since we saw that catch you made from the Defense classroom…"

"…not to mention Wood was almost skipping when he told us," George finished. The twins smiled identically at Harry and hurried to their seats.

"What was that about?" Hermione asked.

Harry smirked, "You heard them, Hermione. It's a secret. If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered, "Boys," in an exasperated tone under her breath.

Just then, Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle appeared. "Madre del dios! Can't a body eat in peace in this place?" Harry grumbled.

"Having a last meal, _Potter_? When are you catching the train back to the muggles?"

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and have your little criados with you," Harry said coolly. The two goons in question were large and bulky, but with the presence of so many teachers at the head table, they couldn't do more than lurk about, looking mean.

Draco sneered, "I'd take you on anytime on my own," he replied. "Tonight, even. Wizard's duel, midnight in the trophy room."

Harry laughed, "What's the matter, Krätze? Too frightened to fight like a man? Or is it you just don't want to mar your manicure?"

The group of Gryffindors chortled at the insult. Draco's face grew pink, "I prefer doing my fighting like a civilized wizard, not like a filthy muggle – not that I'd expect you to know the difference."

Harry's eyes flashed behind his glasses, and he slowly got to his feet. He leveled a cold stare at Draco. "Of course I understand the difference, you bootlicking little weasel, but I sincerely doubt that _you_ do. In my experience, muggles are far more _human_ than you can ever aspire to be." Harry's tone was frigid.

Rage surfaced in the Malfoy boy, and he drew his wand, "I'll make you pay for that, _Potter_!"

Harry, reacting on instinct honed to a knife's edge by playground fights, the street-fighting training he had received from Jim and Dave, the weekly karate lessons, and his own quickness, dropped and executed a perfect leg-sweep, knocking Draco to the stone floor. Malfoy's wand clattered out of his hand and skidded out of reach. Harry knelt down near Draco's head and hissed, enunciating carefully, "I'd be more careful, if _I_ were _you_, Malfoy. Your mouth's going to get you into trouble someday." Harry glanced up to see that both Professor McGonagall and Snape were making their way across the great hall. "Oh, and another thing, Krätze. You _don't_ want me as your enemy. If you fail to remember a single other thing about this encounter, remember _that_."

Harry stood up just as the professors reached them. "What is the meaning of this?" McGonagall asked shrilly.

The four Gryffindor boys jumped to Harry's defense, all talking at once.

"Malfoy started it, professor…"

"It was self-defense, ma'am…"

"Malfoy was going to hex Harry…"

"He pulled his wand on Harry, ma'am…"

"Silence!" Snape said, helping Draco to his feet. "You, Granger. Tell me what happened." Hermione stood and told what had happened. Snape scowled at Draco and told Goyle to retrieve Malfoy's wand. "Ten points from Gryffindor for fighting, Brewer. Malfoy, you, Crabbe, and Goyle are to come with me."

The three boys followed the fuming professor out of the Great Hall, each looking more than a little afraid. McGonagall tutted, "I must say that I am _severely_ disappointed in what just happened and Professor Snape's judgment will stand. However, five points to Miss Granger for her explanation, and two points each for Misters Longbottom, Thomas, Finnegan, and Weasley, for showing unwavering support of a housemate."

Harry returned to his seat and his rapidly-cooling dinner. He did some quick math and burst out laughing. "Harry?" Dean asked, concerned. "You all right?"

Harry nodded, and through his laughter explained, "We still managed to come out with more points than I lost," he said. "Three more, to be precise. Had I known that's what woulda happened, I'd've done that to Malfoy a month ago!"

The boys shared an astonished look before joining Harry in his laughter.

* * *

**A/N2:** I hope this meets with everyone's expectations. Since ffn was being bitchy, I'll probably have chapter six up before I go to bed later tonight.

**A/N3: **German cleaned up (August 25, 2007). Many thanks to Johannes for pointing me in the right direction!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** I've had some questions on the German in Harry's cussing – most of it is easily translatable through babelfish. Harry's nickname of Malfoy means 'scab'.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Some Answers  
**

Later the night following his first flying lesson, Harry was down in his trunk. He couldn't sleep, the words from Lupin's letter were racing though his mind. He'd stopped by the library and found that Azkaban was the wizarding prison, and the thought that an innocent man was locked away offended Harry's Cub Scout nature. He wasn't all too sure he was going to be able to befriend Hagrid, either. The man's sheer size was more than a little intimidating. And, to top it all off, he had an insane dark wizard out there somewhere, no doubt more than a little angry that Harry somehow managed to halt his plans ten years earlier.

He needed to think, not lose himself in music, so he sat his guitar aside and retrieved a notebook and a quill. "I don't think I can do all that much about the Voldemort factor just yet. There's something I'm missing on that side of things, which Remus thinks I'll learn if I talk with Hagrid," Harry sighed. "What about Pettigrew? I might be able to do somethin' about that…"

Harry quickly made a list:

_Known  
Peter Pettigrew was Lily and James' Secret-Keeper, not Sirius Black  
No one knew but the four of them  
Voldemort located Lily and James_

_Therefore  
Pettigrew betrayed Lily and James, indirectly causing their deaths_

_Known  
Pettigrew and Black had some sort of confrontation  
__Several muggles died  
Pettigrew disappeared, all they found was his finger  
Black was thrown in prison for killing the muggles and Pettigrew_

_Therefore  
__Since Pettigrew was the Secret-Keeper, not Black, it is likely that Pettigrew killed the muggles, faking his own death_

_Other information  
__If Pettigrew is still alive, he would be missing the little finger off his left hand.  
Pettigrew is a rat animagus._

_Questions  
__Was Pettigrew right-handed?  
Do injuries like that transfer to an animagus form?_

Harry chewed on his lip and thought hard about what he was going to do next. He put his pen back on the paper and scrawled:

_If I were Pettigrew, what would I have done?_

_To begin with, after betraying Lily and James, I would need to make sure the only other person who would know that it had to have been me who did so was out of the picture. I would also want to make sure that I was unavailable if questions ever surfaced regarding the betrayal and subsequent deaths of Lily and James. Now, I have this ability to become a rather common animal, but I can't simply disappear, that would still leave the other person available to answer questions. I could kill that person, but that would put me at risk. I would have to discredit that person to the point which no one would believe the truth. How to do that? By framing that person for a crime so heinous it would guarantee that person wouldn't ever see the sun again. With the attitude of the time being one of fear of Voldemort and his supporters, what worse crime could there be than to kill a bunch of muggles? I, obviously, don't care about them if I voluntarily gave Voldemort the location of Lily and James. With the other person out of the way, I can then disappear. However, just to be on the safe side, and to keep anyone from coming after me with a bunch of uncomfortable questions, I'd better make people think I'm dead. How would I do that convincingly? If there was an explosion of a great enough force, and if I was quick enough, I could make people think I had been annihilated in the blow, while safely transforming to my rat self and scurrying away. I'd need to leave behind some piece of myself, and if I was right-handed, the appendage I would miss the least would be the little finger on my left hand. Sure, it would be painful, but it would beat a lifetime in prison, or actually getting killed._

_Now, with the only other person that knew what I'd done out of the way, and the rest of the world under the assumption that I am dead, what would my next course of action be? Assuming that I am a follower of Voldemort, I would want to find a place where information regarding Voldemort would be readily available. This means I would want to find a home near or with wizards._

Gooseflesh crept down Harry's spine. He didn't like where this train of thought was going at all.

_I am really human, though I might look like a rat, so living as a common sewer-rat is out of the question. I like knowing I'll be warm in the winter and that I'll always have food of a decent quality available. Therefore, I want to become someone's pet. They will need to be someone compassionate, caring, and not too picky that I __am__ a rat. I would prefer someone I know over a stranger. This means that I would have better luck finding a home with non-Death Eaters. Somehow, I can't see the likes of someone like the Malfoy family taking care of an injured rat._

Harry flipped to a new sheet of paper and compiled a total list of his questions.

_1. Was Pettigrew right-handed?  
2. Do things like missing fingers translate over to an animagus form?  
3. Was Pettigrew close to the Weasleys, or did they work together?  
4. What is the relationship between the Weasleys, Lily and James, Sirius Black, and Pettigrew? Other than they were all supposedly 'light' wizards?  
5. Is there a simple way to determine if a particular animal is an animagus?  
6. Is Scabbers missing a claw off of his left front leg?_

Harry felt that there was no time like the present to see about the last question, so he crept up the ladder. Scabbers was in his customary nighttime position, curled up and asleep on Ron's pillow. Harry retrieved a chocolate frog from the table by his bed, opened it, and waited for the frog to freeze. He bit off a chunk and chewed it thoughtfully. _How to get a look at his paw without him cottonin' on ta what I'm doin'…?_ Harry looked at the chocolate and had to stifle a giggle. He finished off all but part of a leg and slunk over to Ron's bed. He quietly reached over and petted Scabbers, waking the rat. "Hey there, boy," he whispered. "Didn't mean ta wake ya, but since you're up, didja want the last of this chocolate frog?" He held out the fragment of sweet. The rat sniffed it suspiciously before delicately taking it in his paws and nibbling on it. "Enjoy," Harry whispered before retreating to his bed to watch the rat. Scabbers finished off the chocolate and curled up again, falling asleep faster than Harry would have thought possible. With the rat asleep once more, Harry went back to his hide-a-room and seized the notebook. In answer to number six, he penned a messy 'yes.'

He knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep, his mind was racing too much, so he sat down to write a response to Remus.

_October 12, 1991  
Dear Remus,_

_I have a couple of quick questions for you._

_Firstly, was Pettigrew right-handed?_

_Do scars and whatnot transfer to an animagus form?_

_Did Pettigrew ever work with the Weasleys in any way?_

_And lastly, is there a simple way to determine if an animal is really an animagus?_

_If you could get back to me as soon as possible, I'd be much obliged. This is urgent._

_Sincerely,  
Harry_

Harry snuck out of the tower and headed to the owlery. Once there he addressed the perch of owls not out hunting. "Okay, guys, I need the fastest flyer here. It's really important."

A small owl hardly bigger than a softball chirruped and fluttered down to land on Harry's shoulder. Harry checked its name-band. "All right, Circe, here ya go," he held the letter out for her to take. She zoomed out the window and into the night. "Thank you all." He nodded to the remaining owls and went back to his dorm. When he returned, he realized he was lucky not to have run into Filch, his cat, or Peeves. He went back to his hide-a-room and worked through several katas, trying to burn off enough energy to get to sleep. Finally, when his watch said it was nearing three in the morning, Harry collapsed on the bed and fell into a dream-plagued slumber that wasn't at all restful.

He awoke the next morning to Neville shaking him. Harry bolted out of bed and realized he was still in the hide-a-room. He looked around frantically and saw that Neville was the only one there. "Nice place you have here, Harry," Neville grinned at him.

Harry shook his head to clear away the last of the sleep-cobwebs. "What time is it?"

"Almost six. I don't know why, but I woke up earlier than usual. I saw you weren't in the room, and that you'd left your trunk open, so I went to close it for you and saw the ladder."

"Damnit, no one was supposed to know about this place," Harry sighed. "S'pose it can't be helped now. Promise you won't tell?"

Neville nodded, "I promise. But if you really don't want it to go any further, I suggest you get up to the dorm."

"Thanks, Nev. I owe ya one."

Despite the horrid start to the morning, the remainder of the day was… enlightening, to say the least. To Harry's shock, Circe, the flying softball, returned with a response from Remus at breakfast. Ignoring the clamor of the other students, Harry hurriedly read it.

_12 October, 1991  
Harry-_

_I assume you'll explain why I received an urgent owl at three o'clock this morning in your next letter?_

_Yes, Peter was right-handed._

_Yes, most scars transfer to an animagus form._

_Peter and the Weasleys and many other witches and wizards worked together for Dumbledore during Voldemort's first reign. It was as a part of a quasi-legal organization known as the Order of the Phoenix._

_There is a way to force an animagus to reveal himself, but I know of no spell to determine if a particular animal is actually an animagus._

_Please tell me what this is all about._

_-Remus_

Harry felt a grim sort of satisfaction that his musings the night before had more corroborating evidence. He was certain that Ron's pet rat was actually Pettigrew in disguise, but he couldn't prove it without forcing the rat into its human form, which Harry wasn't about to do unless he had a fully-trained wizard nearby, preferably a policeman. He needed another adult to go over his notes, too, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

Harry hurried through breakfast before heading up to his room to grab the notebook he'd been working in the night before, the letters from Remus, and the letter from James. There was still an hour before he had to be to class, and the adult he wanted to talk to just happened to be his teacher for his morning class. With all the papers he needed, he hurried to the potions classroom, hoping that Professor Snape would be there.

To Harry's disappointment, the classroom was empty on his arrival. He didn't wait long before Snape appeared, though. When Severus entered the room and saw who was waiting for him, he raised an eyebrow, "You're here rather early, Brewer. I trust it was you who tripped my wards and that you were _not _about to attempt a prank in my class?"

Harry stood and faced the professor. "I'm sorry, sir, but I needed a second opinion on somethin', and you were the closest one that I could talk to. From that first day of class, I know you already know some of what I wanted to talk about, so I thought you'd be the best one to go to."

"What are you babbling about?"

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, I ain't bein' real clear, am I? Here," he handed over the letters and the pages from the notebook. "Read this and tell me if I missed anythin'."

About twenty minutes later, Severus finished reading through all the documents. He felt a grudging respect for Lupin when he read that the werewolf wasn't blathering the incident in fifth year to the world. He was disturbed, though, by the thought that Black was innocent. He, himself, had been a 'guest' of Azkaban shortly after the fall of the Dark Lord, while he awaited trial for being a Death Eater. No matter how he despised Black, if he truly were innocent of the crime for which he was imprisoned, then he didn't deserve being there. And, if he were quite honest with himself, he had never believed that Black had been the traitor in Potter's group. That, and he actually missed the verbal sparring matches they used to have, even after leaving Hogwarts. Black may have been an irritation akin to a cold-sore or a boil, but the man _was_ intelligent. Severus hadn't had a decent argument in a decade; it was no use arguing with the headmaster – he didn't fight back, at least, not in the way Severus wanted. Minerva was okay, but her insults lacked an edge of sincerity. He was also a trifle amused at Lupin's advice to Harry about getting to know the gamekeeper in order to learn more of what was going on at the school.

"Sir?" Harry's voice drew Severus from his thoughts.

He frowned and handed the pile of papers back to Harry. "Your logic is sound," Severus replied.

"What should I do about this?"

"_You_ will do nothing," Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. "_I_ will contact the authorities." Harry went to hand him the papers again, but Severus shook his head. "I will not need them." He checked the clock. "There is time before class, I recommend stowing those notes, Brewer. Much of that information is considered to be highly classified by the Ministry. It wouldn't do to have everyone made aware of it." He strode out of the class, robes billowing. Just before the door closed behind him, Harry could hear Snape mutter, "A life for a life, Potter, my debt is repaid." Harry wondered what he meant, but didn't get a chance to ask.

The morning passed normally after that; Snape scowled and took points, Neville made an interesting sludge that ate through his cauldron and the work table but wasn't in any way like the potion they were supposed to be creating, and Gryffindor lost a total of fourteen points. All-in-all, a normal potions period for the Gryffindor-Slytherin class. When the bells rang to signal lunch, Harry caught Snape's eye. Snape nodded imperceptibly, and Harry took that to mean everything was taken care of.

As there were no classes scheduled for Friday afternoons, Harry begged off playing with the boys and headed up to his waiting hide-a-room. He returned the letters to his desk and stowed his notes on Pettigrew there as well. He got out a sheet of parchment and set to writing an explanation for Remus, stopping halfway through it to realize that it was his mom's birthday and he'd not gotten her anything. Slightly panicked he hurried down to the common room and found Hermione reading on a window seat. "Hey, Hermione, you seen Fred and George anywhere hereabouts?"

She marked her place in her book and looked up. "I think they're still in class. Why?"

Harry shrugged, "It's Mom's birthday, and I forgot about it until just now. Figured if there was a way to sneak out to get her a present, those two'd know about it."

Hermione sighed, "You know you'd be breaking school rules if you did that, Harry. Why risk it?"

Harry laughed, "You don't know my Mom. She wouldn't be angry that I forgot, she'd just go all wistful on me and end up makin' me feel guilty. It's worth a detention or five just to avoid that."

Hermione smiled reluctantly. "I guess I could understand that. Why not just owl-order something for her? There are a couple of shops that do mail-order – one of them is Harrod's; it even has a wizarding branch."

"Honestly? I didn't know I could. I take it y'all know where a catalog is? I just hope Mom won't be too upset that I left it 'til last-minute."

"The library has a couple of catalogs, including the one for Harrod's," Hermione replied.

"Just what is a 'Harrod's?'" Harry asked. "I ain't never heard of it 'fore."

"It's a London department store," Hermione answered. "I would imagine it's akin to your Bloomingdale's in the US."

"Oh," Harry said, picking up the book Hermione had been reading and making a mental note to look through the catalogs for Yule. "The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. Nifty. My favorite of the stories is the _Fall of the House of Usher_," he commented before quoting, "'Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath been; Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win.'"

"I've always been more fond of his poems, 'Is all that we see or seem, but a dream within a dream?'" Hermione blinked in shock at what had just been said. She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I've been wondering, Harry… Just why do you sound like you do if you've read all that I know you must? You're obviously more intelligent than I'd given you credit for; though I had to verify that by checking the class standings. You're just behind me in Charms and Transfiguration, but top of the class at Defense and Potions – despite Professor Snape's seeming animosity towards you and Professor Quirrell's even stranger avoidance of you. We're tied with Neville in Herbology, too, though I suspect that will change when we get into more difficult areas."

Harry shrugged, setting the book back on the window seat. "I guess it's 'cause my dad an' Uncle Dave talk this way. As I told the guys a couple of days ago, Mom says I'm a mimic. I tend ta talk like people I'm around a lot. I'm even startin' ta talk like y'all here, but I don't think no one else has noticed. 'Sides, where I'm from, the way folks talk don't mean anythin'. Some of the smartest people I ever met are the farmers back home, but none of you city folk would think so. We may sound uneducated, an' some of us talk slow, but I'm pretty sure most of us would surprise ya. I mean, of all the families I know back home, most are farmers, an' only a couple of them own televisions."

Hermione curled up on the window seat, "Why is that?"

Harry smiled a little, "There's just too damn much work ta be done on a farm to waste time in front of a TV. Most folks I know would rather read a book than let some piece of gadgetry do their thinkin' for them."

"So… You're not cheating or anything?" Hermione almost sounded disappointed.

Harry chuckled, "No. Iffen I were, I think expulsion'd be the least of my worries. Mom'd flay me alive." Harry made a sudden decision. "Hermione, can I ask you somethin'?"

"You just did."

"Somethin' else?"

She shrugged, "Why not?"

"Why are you so worried about your grades? I mean… I can understand a little worryin', that's normal, but you… you're _obsessed_."

Hermione picked up her book and clutched it as though it were a life-preserver and she was the last passenger on the Titanic. "I suppose it all goes back to my very first year of primary school. The work was all too easy, so I didn't bother doing any of it. The school governors threatened to fail me that year, but my parents talked them out of it, promising that I'd do my work from then on. I guess it scared me. I… I just don't want to get left behind."

"I don't think you will ever get 'left behind,' Hermione. You're too smart to let somethin' like that happen again. You should ease up a touch, have a little fun ev'ry now an' again. Studyin's all well an' good, but there _is_ more ta life than books."

Before Hermione could reply, the portrait swung open and the Gryffindor third years filed in, chatting loudly among themselves. "Excuse me, Hermione," Harry said before hurrying over to Fred and George.

"Ooh, look! It's ickle Harrikins!" Fred exclaimed.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at the nickname, but let it slide, "Hey y'all, I was wonderin' if I could talk to ya for a minute, yeah?"

George shrugged while Fred gave a mocking bow, "Lead onward, o Smiter of Prefects!"

Harry led the two up to his dorm, and spoke while rummaging around in his trunk for the bag of galleons that his mom had given him for the school year. "I figured y'all would be the two to ask if I needed somethin' done…" Seizing the moneybag, he straightened up.

"What did you have in mind?" George asked.

"A prank on a certain blonde Slytherin?"

"Or something even more fun…"

"…against his Head-of-House?"

Harry snickered and shook his head, "Neither," he replied and had to laugh outright at the twins' crestfallen expressions. "It's my mom's birthday, an' I completely spaced it 'til today. I need to get her a gift, an' wanted y'all to show me how to get to Hogsmeade without the teachers findin' out. I don't expect they'd question it if I said I owl-ordered the gift, but since I forgot, I can't do that. Mom'd be disappointed if it was late."

With the help of Fred and George, Harry was soon perusing the shops of the wizarding village not far from the school. After Harry had selected a present, the three of them stopped by the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer, Madam Rosmerta not at all surprised to see the twins, and paused long enough in Honeydukes to re-stock their sweet-stash before heading back to the castle through a hidden passageway. When they returned to the Tower, Harry hastily wrapped the gift for his mom and set out to locate Professor Dumbledore. After nearly an hour of frustrated wandering, where three separate portraits gave him three separate sets of directions, he ran into – literally – Professor Snape.

"Watch where you're going, Brewer."

"Sorry, sir. Could you show me where Professor Dumbledore's office is? I was told that I could floo my folks, an' as it's Mom's birthday…"

With a scowl, Severus turned on his heel, "The office is this way, Brewer."

Before long, the two of them were outside the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office. Harry turned to thank the professor, but he had already disappeared. He wondered how he was supposed to get into the office. _Snape could've told me_, he thought ruefully. He knocked on the statue, and jumped in shock when it blinked. "Um… Could you let the headmaster know I'm here?" he didn't feel quite as silly as he had the first time he spoke to the owls, but it was close. After a couple of minutes the gargoyle stepped aside, revealing a stone staircase that moved upwards like an escalator. Harry jumped on and rode it to the top, where he knocked on the heavy wooden doors.

"Come in, Mr. Brewer," Dumbledore's voice was just audible through the thick wood.

Harry pushed the door open and stepped inside, "Sorry to disturb ya, sir, but I was told I could floo my folks?"

"Certainly, Mr. Brewer, come in, come in. I was just finalizing the details of when an auror investigatory squad would arrive to look into an anonymous claim of an illegal animagus on Hogwarts grounds. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" his eyes were twinkling at Harry.

Harry grinned innocently, "Who, me? No, sir!"

The professor shared a conspiratorial grin with Harry. "The floo powder is on the mantle, in the silver box. May I ask why this is your first call home? I would have assumed you would have made use of the offer before now."

"It's Mom's birthday," Harry replied. "We've been writing, otherwise I'd've called sooner." The headmaster nodded and returned to his paperwork while Harry activated the floo. Presently, Aurilia appeared in the fire. "Happy birthday, Mom," Harry said, shoving the little package through the fire.

His mom grinned, "Thanks, luz. Thought you'd forgotten me." She opened it to find a small statue of a unicorn, carved from white marble, that walked around and whinnied convincingly. She exclaimed over it and spoke for several minutes with her son, before calling Jim in to do the same. When Jim was done talking, he turned the call over to Dave. When the call finally ended, Harry realized they'd been talking for the better part of an hour, and it was now dinnertime.

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**A/N2:** Thanks again to everyone who likes and reads this bit of fluff. That reminds me, I had a reviewer say something about this being somewhat self-insertionary. To that I have to say guilty as charged, though not in the way that is normally meant. I have bits of myself show up in most of the characters; for example, Aurilia's herbal medicine and love of horses are both purely aspects of me, as is A.J.'s tomboyness, but I've not created a single character that is wholly me. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** I've gotten a couple of offers from people volunteering to fix the German in my story, so if I hear back from them, I'll go through and fix it. Coming up later in the story are some sections of Latin (all the phrases used came from a Latin phrasebook, so they shouldn't need fixed) and some dialog in Spanish (which is as accurate as I could make it); if either of these happenings have glaring errors, I won't be upset if they're pointed out to me. My beta's only experience with a second language was with Russian, so she isn't much help on those bits.

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**Chapter Seven: Remus Lupin**_  
_

_October 12, 1991  
Remus,_

_Sorry about my last letter being on the short side, and I apologize for waking you; it wasn't my intention to do so. The questions were important though, and I didn't want to sit on them for long._

_To be blunt, I think I located Pettigrew. If I'm right, then he's been posing as the pet rat of the Weasley family. If you want to see how I figured this out, read the additional pages I sent along with the letter. You can keep the notes, I recopied them for you. My originals are a little messy and I won't ask you to try to decode my handwriting when I'm in a hurry or thinking, or both. __I__ can barely read it, sometimes._

_We don't know for sure yet if the rat I know and Pettigrew are the same person, but I'm almost certain they are. Dumbledore mentioned to me this evening that he was arranging for an 'auror investigatory squad' to come and look into the matter. Quick question, though. What is an 'auror?' I've heard the term a couple of times now and keep forgetting to look it up in the library._

_If Ron's rat and Pettigrew prove to be one and the same, what will this mean? I know Sirius Black is currently in prison, and that if my logic really is sound and my assumptions are correct, the person he supposedly killed would be located alive and well. Would he be given a retrial? Pardoned for crimes he didn't commit? Acquitted?_

_There's so much I don't know yet about the wizarding world… Sometimes, it's frustrating. Especially when I find out about something that 'everyone' knows. At least I know I'm not alone. My friend, Dean Thomas, is muggle-born, and has almost as many questions about the wizarding world as me. However, there are some things that I'm learning are particular to Brits in general, not just wizards. Some of your terminology is just plain weird. Like calling dessert 'pudding,' even when it's obviously pie or cake. Or calling cookies 'biscuits.' A biscuit is usually pretty flavorless and makes a great support for sausage gravy; they don't come with chocolate chips and taste great dunked in milk. And what is with the organ-meat obsession y'all have? I like steak as much as the next guy, but then y'all have to go and ruin it by adding kidneys - kidneys! I didn't know those were even edible! And have y'all never heard of 'pizza' before? If I could find the kitchens, I'd have a word or three with the cooks._

_Fred and George Weasley helped me out today. It's Mom's birthday, and, what with everything else on my mind, I completely forgot about it. They took me down a secret passageway to Hogsmeade so I could get her a present. I think I mentioned in an earlier letter that Mom and Dad and Uncle Dave raise horses? I wanted to get Mom something horse-related, but the closest I could find was a little statue of a unicorn. It moves around on its own and even whinnies. I hope that it won't get itself lost. Heh, I just thought of something. Always before, if I borrowed something and forgot to put it back, Mom and Dad would tell me, "I know you have it, Harry. It didn't just grow legs and walk away." Now, though, that is a very real possibility._

_I've also been thinking about what you said about my real parents, how you'd answer any questions I might have. I did have a few. Why and how did my folks decide to name me 'Harold James?' I understand that the middle name is from my father, but… The sheer amount of teasing I've received from my first name had me wishing it was something – anything – else more than once._

_Where did my parents live? A house? Apartment? Mobile-home court? Or did they live in one of the castles y'all seem to have an overabundance of?_

_Oh, I have one last question before I sign off. What did James mean when he said that they didn't pick you for their Secret-Keeper because 'We just don't know if someone would be able to get the information on the full moon?' It had me wondering if mayhap werewolves existed. Silly, I know._

_Anyway, I really ought to be finishing up my homework, Professor McGonagall's assigned this long essay on turning beetles into buttons and I've got quidditch practice in the morning. Hmm… I just realized I hadn't told you, but I was made seeker for the Gryffindor team. I have to use the school brooms until I get one of my own, but I don't mind. I was actually a little pleased to find I could do something without having to study for hours._

_TTYL (that's Talk To You Later,)  
Harry_

Remus Lupin had to read the letter three times before the full implications hit him. He hurried through the page of Harry's notes and found that they were clear, concise, and – most importantly – plausible. _Merlin, _he thought. _Harry must be some kind of extraordinary if he could figure this out that quickly. He'd make a spectacular auror._ Remus had to sit and have a cup of tea to calm his nerves. _And he's only eleven… I shudder to think what he will be capable of in a couple of years._

Remus packed quickly. He was currently staying in the muggle area of Dublin, Ireland. He found it easier to locate employment when his prospective employers didn't have to ask for his werewolf-registration number. His current job was processing data-entry for an insurance firm. He was also on his last warning for attendance. Remus shrugged and penned a quick letter to the firm, giving them the post-office box he kept in Liverpool as his forwarding address. The postmaster who ran that particular branch had a sister who was a witch, and often found herself having to forward post from muggle origin to their witch and wizard recipients.

For the first time in ten years, Remus was actually looking forward to returning to England. He couldn't wait to meet Harry, and he was also looking forward to seeing Sirius again. When he saw him, he was going to apologize for believing all the lies. Then… well, then they'd see. Ten years was a long time, and ten years with the dementors of Azkaban was even longer. Remus only hoped that Sirius was still as sane as ever, though he knew the effects of a dementor would be dulled if Sirius had the presence of mind to use his animagus form.

By the time the clock ticked over to October 13, Remus had cleared out his little flat, left a note with the keys for the landlord, and was standing in the wizarding sector of the Dublin airport, waiting for a portkey to London.

* * *

**A/N2:** I know this chapter's a little shorter than most, don't fret, though. I'll upload chapter eight in a couple of hours or so (this was uploaded at about 11:30 am CST). 


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** As promised, here's chapter eight.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Rat-Catching for Fun and Profit**

Sunday, October 14 dawned cold and rainy. Harry was glad that he didn't have practice, and didn't envy the Hufflepuff team, who was out in the wind and wet. Rising early as he always did, he retrieved his guitar from his trunk and set to some basic maintenance on it – cleaning it, making sure the body was undamaged, the neck still tight, and that it was still tuned. The last he did after the rest of the Gryffindor boys had begun to wake up. He was running through his repertoire of the songs Dave had taught him in preparation for the previous summer's July fourth party – primarily patriotic music – when Dean asked, "Why are you playing 'God Save the Queen?'"

Harry looked up, confused. "I'm not. _It's My Country, 'Tis of Thee_."

"No, it isn't," Dean persisted.

"Yeah, it is." Harry sighed, and began singing the lyrics. "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing…"

When he finished, the other boys started laughing. "What's so damn funny?" Harry asked.

"It's just that the music behind what you sang is the British national anthem," Neville replied.

Harry smirked, "Yeah, well… You know, recyclin' started in the US." He sat the guitar aside and stretched. "I been thinkin'," he started.

"Three of the more terrifying words you've ever said," Seamus teased.

Harry stuck his tongue out at him, "No, seriously, I really think it'd be cool to start a band. We just need to train up Ron and Nev," he gestured to where the two boys were getting dressed for the day.

"Hold up, I thought I said I didn't want to learn an instrument?" Neville looked slightly panicked.

Harry shrugged, "An' I thought ya said that's 'cause you didn't wanna break nothin'? I been thinkin' 'bout it, an' I talked to Hermione a couple of days ago – she told me the library keeps some catalogs on hand. Went through them yesterday, an' found that we can get a lot of different muggle-style instruments that run off magic. There's a whole page of charms an' spells available to customize the instruments, too."

"I know about those…" Ron said. "They're supposed to be really expensive, though."

Harry shrugged, "I'll be gettin' some of them anyway… I just thought that if y'all were really serious, I may as well get stuff y'all would be happy with…"

The other four boys exchanged a look and retreated to the far side of the room. Seamus cast a silencing spell around them and they began talking animatedly. Harry reflected that it was not unlike watching TV with the volume on mute. After several minutes, an agreement seemed to have been reached. Seamus took down the spell and Ron walked up to Harry. "Show us what you were planning on getting, and then we'll talk more about this."

Harry nodded and lead the way to the library. The five of them found a secluded corner – not that the library was all that busy, it was Sunday morning, after all – and flipped a thick catalog open to the proper pages. "If you guys decide not to come in on this band thing, I was gonna get myself one of the magical electric guitars. That one, to be exact," he said, pointing to a blue-and-white Fender Strat with a price tag of almost four hundred galleons. "I was also going to get a keyboard, as I asked McGonagall yesterday if there was a piano in this school and came back disappointed." This time, Harry pointed to an elaborate Casio keyboard that, in addition to the full complement of piano keys, had numerous additional features and buttons. It's listed price was slightly less than the Fender, at three hundred galleons. "I figured if I was just gonna be gettin' somethin' for myself, it may as well be the best."

Dean, Ron, Neville, and Seamus all looked at each other and pulled the catalog closer to them. Dean retrieved a small notebook from his pocket and a half-chewed stub of a pencil. "Run off for a while, Harry," Seamus said, not looking up. "We're going to see if we can't find something we like."

Harry smiled to himself and headed back to the dorm. _Glad to see that worked, _he mused. _Though I really did want that Fender… Mayhap next year or the one after. Depends on how good we get._ Harry had to keep himself from laughing out loud. _Hope Ron decides on guitar – he's got the long fingers needed to play it good, an' I already know Seamus plays drums, an' Dean runs bass. That leaves Nev… Wonder what the guys'll talk him into? Mayhap keyboard and synth. With that, an' me runnin' another guitar, we'll have a decent band. Just hope that one of us ends up with a good voice, else we'll hafta start holdin' auditions for a vocalist once we start soundin' decent._

While Harry sat down to read through his potions notes and study ahead a bit, Ron, Dean, Neville, and Seamus were looking through the catalog. "We're agreed, right? We're not going to let the total cost go over five hundred galleons, right?" Ron fretted.

Dean chuckled. "I figure as long as we keep it under the total he was going to spend, it won't matter. I know the guitar he was going to get is the absolute _best_, but I don't think the rest of us are ready for something like that just yet."

"I still don't know if I want to do this," Neville commented.

"Buck up, Nev," Seamus said, reading through the list of charms available for drum-kits. "We'll make sure whatever you pick gets an unbreakable charm added to it."

Neville reluctantly grinned, "All right, then. What are we getting?"

Ron shrugged, "I don't know just yet. Seam and Dean are going to pick out theirs first, because they already know what they're looking for. I don't know what I want to learn, though."

Seamus was scribbling down a couple of the charms he was interested in, "Well, most bands have only one drummer and one bass player. Two or three guitars is normal, and most also have a keyboardist that also doubles as a synthesizer conductor. It helps that most keyboards also have synth capabilities."

"Since I play bass, and Seamus plays the drums, we've got that covered. Harry can either be the keyboardist or lead guitar, so that leaves either two guitar positions or a guitar and keyboardist." Dean said, ticking everything off on his fingers. Seamus finished with the catalog and handed it to him, keeping the page of notes he'd taken. He used his own quill to cross out a couple of the things he'd written.

"In that case," Ron said, thinking of the music Harry'd played for them on the guitar, "I think I'd like the guitar."

"I understand that a keyboard is like a portable piano, but what, exactly, is a 'synth?'" Neville asked, chewing on his lip.

"It's probably the single most-versatile instrument," Seamus replied while totaling up the cost of the additional charms he'd selected. "It can reproduce the sound of any other instrument out there – I've even seen some that did sound effects like applause or animal noises. But it's all controlled on a piano-style keyboard, for the most part, so the player only has to learn one instrument."

Neville looked slightly panicked, "I don't know if I can do this…"

Ron laughed and slung an arm around Neville's shoulders. "Don't worry about it, Nev. I'm sure it can't be any harder than anything else we've been learning this year, and it's _bound _to be easier than Potions!"

Neville laughed with the rest of them and accepted the catalog when it was passed to him. Seamus and Dean helped Ron and Neville pick out what they'd be comfortable with, making sure that _everyone_ had included unbreakable charms on their selections. When they were done, the total amount of what they'd selected came to exactly three hundred galleons, ten sickles, and two knuts, not including postage and handling.

When they met up with Harry for lunch, they told him what they'd decided and showed him the list of instruments and charms they'd selected. Harry smiled and tucked the list into his robes, mentally noting to make sure to change the style of guitar Ron had picked out – what Ron had selected was traditionally a blues-guitar, and the brand was less than reputable in the muggle world. He was a little surprised to see that of the custom charms they'd selected, all of them had three that were alike: an unbreakable charm, a self-cleaning charm, and a chameleon charm that let them change the color of the instrument whenever they wanted. He hurried through his meal, "I'm gonna go send off the order, guys. Met ya back in the room for Defense practice later, yeah?"

"Sure," they replied while Harry hurried to the library. He made a quick substitution for Ron's guitar and added his own selection for a guitar to the order-form. He didn't succumb to the temptation of the Fender, though he had to talk himself out of it. He also made sure that the guitars and bass had an auto-tuning charm added to them and wondered if the charm was in one of his books – he hated having to constantly retune his acoustic. He followed the directions on the order form to send it. Apparently it had a modified portkey charm on it that assured that no orders would be lost to the floo or a waylaid owl. He ran into the Gryffindor boys as they were exiting the Tower. "Hey y'all, what's up?"

"Ron's been summoned to the headmaster's office," Dean said.

"We're going along as moral support," Seamus replied at the same time Ron held up Scabbers in his cage and said, "He told me to bring my rat…"

Harry grinned. This was faster than he'd anticipated. "Think I'll come with y'all. I have a hunch what this is about."

Harry was correct. When the five of them, six if one counted the sleeping rat, made their way to the headmaster's office, where Professors McGonagall and Snape were waiting, along with a shabbily-dressed man holding a rather large valise and a tall, bald black man with a gold earring wearing dark blue robes that were much shorter than the robes Harry was used to seeing on wizards.

"Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, standing up, eyes twinkling. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, have a seat." He flicked his wand a couple of times and two squashy couches appeared. The boys sat down. "Could I offer anyone some tea?"

"Perhaps we should just get on with this," Severus suggested.

"Agreed," McGonagall said. "I'm rather curious as to why one of my students would be summoned to a meeting with an auror."

Harry noticed that the rat had woken up and when the word 'auror' was said, it seemed to panic. Squeaking noisily, he tried to chew through the cage. Harry knew that the cage was charmed to be unbreakable – Ron had told him as much. Ron ignored the squealing of the rat and looked up in alarm at McGonagall's words. "Auror? But I haven't…"

"Quite right, Mr. Weasley," Albus smiled. "It was not you, precisely, that we wished to see, but your rat. Before we go into that, may I introduce Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin? Kingsley, Remus, these are the Gryffindor first year boys. From the left, we have Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom. On the other sofa is Ronald Weasley and Harry Brewer." He looked to Ron once more, "Now, Mr. Weasley, if you would be so kind as to remove your pet from his cage? That's a good lad."

Ron opened the cage and reached in to remove Scabbers. The rat wanted no part of this, however, and leapt onto Ron's arm and scurried out of the cage. He jumped onto the floor and headed towards the wall, looking for an escape. "Scabbers!" Ron protested, just as a blue-white light hit the rat. Harry saw that it originated from the pale wand of the auror.

When the light faded, in Scabbers' place was a short, fat man, with watery eyes, a pointed face, large teeth, and thinning, gray-brown hair. Harry smiled at the fact that his assumptions had proven positive. He looked to Remus. He saw that his pen-pal was looking rather pale and was quite obviously holding back a show of rage by force of will alone. Harry reached out with his empathy and quickly pulled back. The amount of anger the nondescript man was feeling was enough to make Harry's head spin.

For his part, Pettigrew was still looking for a way out, backing away from the auror and Remus, knocking over several of the whirring contraptions that Albus had setting around his office. "_Petrificus totalus!_" To everyone's surprise, the hex had not come from Kingsley's wand, nor from that of Remus. Harry turned to Ron in surprise, seeing that his friend was thin-lipped and his face appeared to be cycling between pasty, green, and purple. None of them were good colors for the redhead.

"Calm down, Ron," Harry muttered. "Yeah, he's a lying little pest, but there's no need to get sent to Azkaban along with him." Ron lowered his wand and tucked back up his sleeve.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Albus said. "Severus, if you would?"

Snape stalked towards the petrified Pettigrew. He muttered a spell under his breath and retrieved a vial of a clear potion from his pocket. Over the course of the next thirty minutes, Kingsley asked a series of questions to which Pettigrew was forced to answer truthfully. Harry made a note to check out how to brew Veritaserum at a point in the future. The twins would have been proud of the pranks that ran through Harry's mind.

* * *

**A/N2:** I hope this met with everyone's expectations. Coming soon - the Halloween Troll Incident. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who takes the time to read, and cyber-cake to all who review!

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Halloween**

The remainder of the month of October passed much as the preceding month of September had, with the notable exception of the absence of Scabbers from the Gryffindor dorm. Harry received numerous letters from A.J., his parents, and Remus. Remus had written that he was sorry that they'd not had a chance to talk the night of Pettigrew's capture, but that he'd obtained a room in Hogsmeade for the time-being. Harry had been sorely tempted to use the secret passageway that the twins had shown him to go visit the man, but decided not to, realizing that if he used it too often – particularly since first-years weren't allowed off the grounds – it wasn't going to remain secret for long; not to mention he wasn't quite accurate at hitting the knot on the Whomping Willow's trunk when the branches seemed bound and determined that no one be able to hit it. The twins, obviously, had much more practice at it, so he stuck to letter-writing. Hermione's coolness towards Harry had warmed somewhat after their little discussion, and they began working together some in their classes; though they weren't precisely friends, rather they had a healthy respect for one another's intelligence.

The only other thing that had happened was Harry received a Nimbus 2000 broomstick – something that Draco had tried to get him into trouble for owning. One of Harry's fondest memories of that month was when he smirkingly replied that his owning it at all was 'really all 'cause of Draco.' The blonde Slytherin had looked to be on the verge of apoplectic fury at Harry's words, but the presence of Professor Flitwick had ensured that he couldn't do much more than turn pink and sputter.

Halloween morning found the whole school waking up to the smell of baking pumpkin. Harry reflected that it smelled like the kitchen back home on Thanksgiving morning, then found himself explaining the uniquely American holiday to the other Gryffindor boys. In their first class of the day, Charms, Professor Flitwick announced that they were going to start learning how to levitate items. Seamus and Neville paired off, as did Dean and Harry. So, Ron was stuck with working with Hermione – much to his irritation. Though Harry and she had reached an understanding, that understanding did not extend to include the other Gryffindor first-years. The other boys were upset that the bossy 'know-it-all' chit was still shadowing their group.

"Don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing," the professor squeaked. "Swish and flick, and remember that enunciation is quite important in making sure the correct charm is applied; never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest!"

The charm proved more difficult than the students had presumed. _This is harder than it looks,_ Harry mused, prodding the feather he and Dean were using with his wand. _Wonder why?_ he thought, and suddenly had to abandon his train of thought as the feather caught fire. He quickly knocked it to the floor and ground it out with the heel of his left boot. While Dean retrieved another feather from the professor, Harry watched Ron at the next table.

Ron didn't seem to be having any better luck with the charm. If Hermione's expression was anything to go by, Harry was glad he hadn't partnered with the witch for the class.

"You're saying it _wrong_," she said, grabbing Ron's arm. "It's Wing-_gar_-dium Levi-_o_-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled, completely fed up with both the assignment and Hermione's attitude.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her robe, swish-and-flicked her wand, saying, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads. "Oh, well done!" the professor clapped. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

By the end of the class, Hermione had been the only one to have successfully levitated her feather, and Ron and the other Gryffindor boys – Harry excluded – were rather perturbed about it. Harry, for his part, realized that he couldn't be expected to be good at everything right away and was about to congratulate Hermione on her success when Ron's voice interrupted him. "It's no wonder the only one who can stand her is Harry! She's a nightmare! Between knowing bloody _everything_ in class, and constantly trying to act like a prefect, is it any wonder she doesn't have any friends?"

"Ron!" Harry started to chastise his friend when someone pushed past the knot of boys. Harry saw that it was Hermione. He called after her, "Hermione! Wait!" but she didn't seem to hear him. He spun around to face his redheaded friend. "Ron, that was uncalled for," he said, a hard edge in his voice. "Just 'cause she's smart an' don't want us makin' trouble for the house don't give you the right ta say somethin' like that. I don't see you sayin' stuff like that 'bout me, an' she an' I have almost the same grades."

"But you don't lord it over everyone the way she does, Harry," Ron protested.

"Even so, it's still not somethin' ya do to girls." Harry was firm. Between his personal sense of honor and subtle teaching from his dad and uncle, not to mention the Boy Scout code of ethics, Harry _knew_ he was right. He just wished the other boys could see it.

Hermione wasn't seen for the rest of the day. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, the boys overheard Lavender Brown tell Parvati Patil that Hermione had been in the girls' bathroom all day, crying. Harry's irritation with his friends spiked again, but he wasn't sure what to do about it. _If she don't show up by the end of the feast, I'm gonna go pry her outta that bathroom and _make_ Ron apologize - friend or not, ya just _don't_ treat girls like that._

His appreciation for the complicated decorations around the Great Hall was little more than a passing observation. Harry had more important things on his mind than the live bats that swooped around or the intricately carved pumpkins hovering over everyone's heads. The feast appeared much as it had on the first night of the term, but Harry wasn't all that hungry. He was picking at some sort of cooked greenish lump when Professor Quirrell came bursting through the doors. He looked pale and slightly sweaty. "Troll! In the dungeons!" he shrieked. "Thought you ought to know," he said in a slightly lower volume before slumping to the floor. Harry had just enough time to note, _And _this _is the guy who's s'posed to be teachin' us about things like that?_ before the hall erupted into panicked screams.

Several loud bangs came from the head table, and Harry saw Headmaster Dumbledore getting to his feet, "Prefects will lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately, while the professors and I look into this matter."

Harry ignored Percy, who was issuing orders with all the pompousness Harry had come to expect from the oldest Weasley currently at Hogwarts. Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Ron all followed Harry's lead. "What's wrong, Harry?" Neville asked.

"Yeah, mate, why are you not heading to the dorm?" Dean looked nervous.

Harry's face was grim, "Hermione doesn't know about the troll. Y'all go on, I'll find her and catch up."

Neville smiled a little, "No, I don't think we will. We're coming with you." Dean and Seamus nodded in agreement.

Harry squared his shoulders, "All right, but I'm not responsible if y'all get caught."

"She's supposed to be in the girls' loo, right?" Ron asked. Harry decided he was feeling guilty for his earlier comments.

Harry nodded. By that time, they were the only ones left in the Great Hall. Harry led the way up several staircases and through the halls. At one point, the group narrowly avoided being caught by Snape. _Wonder why he's up here and not in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?_ Harry pondered, then shrugged it off. _Think about it later, Harry. Find Hermione first, then see if we can't get back to the Tower without losing points or getting detention._

They were only a couple of hundred yards from the bathroom when Dean wrinkled up his nose. "Can any of you smell something foul?"

The other boys sniffed the air. Neville turned slightly green at the stench that hovered in the air. "Madre del dios," Harry whispered when he saw what could only be the troll at the end of a passage to their left. Low, thunderous footfalls echoed through the hall as it moved towards them.

It paused next to a doorway, and in the light of a couple of torches, the boys saw it clearly. It was twelve feet tall, large and muscular, with flat feet, long arms, and a disproportionately small head. In one massive hand, it dragged a heavy club that appeared to have been made from a whole tree. It made a grunting noise and twitched its ears before ducking into the room.

The boys were all looking at each other in worry when a high, petrified scream came from within the room into which the troll had just disappeared. Harry let out a stream of German, that, had the others understood it, would have made them blush. "I think we just found Hermione," he said before pulling out his wand and hurrying to the door.

None of the boys were too keen on Hermione in general, but what choice did they have? Just because she had proven to be singularly irritating didn't mean they wanted to see her dead; she was still a Gryffindor, after all. They followed Harry's lead and pulled their wands. Harry slowly opened the door a crack and peered through the crack, "Hermione's hiding under the sinks," he whispered. "The troll doesn't seem to know where she is," there was a great crashing noise. "He just broke off the tops of a whole row of stalls." Harry explained. "Dean, Seamus, you two go to the right, Neville and Ron, you take the left. Try to keep it busy. I'll get Hermione."

With that, the five boys slipped into the bathroom. Dean began trying to cast spells at the troll, but most of the spells seemed to be bouncing off its thick skin. Ron was trying the same thing, but Neville and Seamus had taken to pelting the troll with the wreckage from the stalls, yelling at it. Harry hurried over to Hermione. "You all right?" he asked.

She was obviously more than a little frightened. Her hair was bushier than normal, her robes wrinkled and one of the sleeves was torn, she was covered in dust, and still had tear-tracks down her face, but she nodded, "Yeah. Let's get out of here."

The distraction from the other boys seemed to be working, so Hermione dashed towards the door. Harry waited until he saw that she was fine, and made to follow her. The troll, though, maddened by the continuous noise and the irritation of the shower of wood and pipes, had other plans. It roared and reached for the nearest of the small creatures causing its distress.

It caught Harry by the ankle. Harry let out an 'oof!' noise as his chest hit the tiles. "Do somethin'!" he shouted.

"Like what?" Ron yelled back. "Nothing's working!"

The troll was dangling Harry by his ankle several feet off of the floor. Luckily, Harry was facing the beast, and saw when it went to hit him with its club. He swung himself out of the way and heard Ron say, "On three!"

It swung again, and this time Harry could feel the tree catch on his robes, ripping them in the process. "One!" Ron shouted, "Two! Three!"

Then four voices shouted, "Wingardium leviosa!"

It took a moment for the troll to figure out that its club was hovering in the air above him. He dropped Harry, who felt something give in his right arm when he landed on the hard tile floor. As the wind was also knocked out of him, and since he was more concerned with remembering how to breathe, he was only vaguely aware of Ron shouting, "Now!" and the tree-club of the troll hitting its head. He felt someone pull him out of the way of three tons of falling dark creature. When he caught his breath, he saw that it had been Neville and Hermione who had pulled him out of the way of being crushed. Harry looked at the fallen troll; it's head was at an odd angle to the rest of it, and Harry realized that it's neck must be broken. "Thanks," he gasped.

"Don't mention it," Hermione replied, looking as pale and shaky as Harry felt.

Neville looked shell-shocked. "Did we just do what I think we did?" he asked faintly.

Ron nodded, "Yeah. Think so, mate."

Dean laughed a little, "Um… Hermione? Do you think I could borrow your Charms notes this weekend?"

"Sure," Hermione smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes.

"Everyone all right?" Seamus asked, slumping against the wall.

Everyone else nodded while Harry tried to move his right hand, "Ow!"

Hermione, who was reaching for Harry's wand, paused. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Dunno," Harry replied. "Can't move my hand. Think I broke somethin'." Hermione noted that his face was pasty white and slightly sweaty, even though the rest of them seemed to be getting their color back.

"Come on," she said, "Let's get him to Madam Pomfrey, and then see if we can find the teachers so they can get rid of this," she kicked the troll rather viciously.

Before the five others could get Harry to his feet, the door opened rather forcefully. Harry grimaced in the combined pain from his arm and the realization that the teachers had likely heard the noise they'd made. When he looked up, his suspicions were confirmed. Professor McGonagall, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen her, was standing, barring their way. Professor Snape was close behind her, and Quirrell wasn't far behind him. Quirrell took one look at the troll, gasped, and sat heavily on the floor, clutching his chest.

"What on Earth were you thinking?" McGonagall hissed. "You're lucky you all weren't killed! Why are you not in your dormitory?"

Snape leveled his piercing gaze at Harry. Harry felt the oddest sensation of fingers rummaging around in his brain before he broke eye-contact with the wizard.

From Harry's side, he heard Hermione say, "Please, Professor McGonagall. Don't be angry at the boys; they were looking for me, and Harry's hurt."

"Miss Granger!" McGonagall exclaimed. "You?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, ma'am," she replied, staring at the floor. "I went looking for the troll… I thought I could handle it. I've read _all _about them…"

Harry reached out with his empathy, not wanting to give the game away. He could feel the confusion coming from the other boys, the bewildered anger and concern from McGonagall, and – curiously – a grudging admiration from Snape. The utter rage coming from Quirrell, though, was completely unexpected and at odds with his seeming fear of even the dead troll. Harry filed it away to think about later. His arm _really _hurt.

"'Scuse me, ma'am?" Harry whispered, "Could they take me to the hospital wing? Please?"

McGonagall suddenly noticed how pale Harry was. "Yes, yes. That would be best. Before you go, though… Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger. You, of all people, should have known better." Hermione's lip quivered, but no more tears made an appearance.

"Misters Weasley, Brewer, Longbottom, Thomas, and Finnegan. Though I can appreciate concern for a housemate, I trust nothing like this will ever happen again?" They nodded in unison. "However, I feel I must reward your quick thinking that lead to saving a fellow student's life. Three points will be rewarded to Gryffindor for each of you. Now, take Mr. Brewer to see Madam Pomfrey and head back to your dorm. The feast has been moved to the common rooms."

Neville and Hermione supported Harry while Dean and Seamus walked to either side of them, and Ron walked in front, leading the way. "We should have gotten more than fifteen points," he grumbled.

"Five, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's," Seamus replied.

While they waited for one of the staircases to finish shifting, Ron bit his lip and turned to face Hermione. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

Hermione looked up in surprise. "Don't worry about it. You came for me when no one else did. I'd probably be dead from that troll if you guys hadn't came when you did." She smiled at the boys, and they nodded, smiling back. From that moment on, Hermione Granger became an honorary boy in their eyes; there are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and killing a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them. It helped that she wasn't as squeamish as most girls and loathed how Lavender and Parvati spent more time gossiping than doing their homework.

After depositing Harry into the care of Madam Pomfrey, the other Gryffindor first-years headed back to the Tower. Pomfrey fixed Harry's broken arm in a matter of moments, but told him he had to stay overnight, to make sure the bones had mended correctly. So Harry found himself staring out one of the windows that overlooked the forest while his friends enjoyed the feast back in their dorm.

"Brewer."

Harry's head whipped around to see Professor Snape standing at the foot of his bed. "Good evening, sir." Harry replied. "Can I help ya with somethin'?"

Severus nodded, "I wanted to know why Miss Granger felt the need to lie about what was going on this evening." It wasn't a question.

Harry sighed, "Honestly? I dunno. Guess she felt she owed us one for goin' after her. How'd you know she was lyin'? And what happened?"

"You will have to be more specific, Brewer. To my knowledge, you were cognizant of the entire occurrence."

Harry sighed and rearranged himself on the pillows. "I mean, sir, what happened when you showed up? I felt like there was somthin' rummagin' 'round in my head."

"Quite accurate," Snape said. "That was indeed what I was doing. I was certain that, otherwise, we would not have the truth of the matter." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Severus held up his hand to stop him. "Do not fret, Brewer. The only one who will be made aware of the situation will be the headmaster."

Harry fidgeted for a moment, trying to figure out how to word what he wanted to say. "Professor?"

"Yes, Brewer?"

"What's going on with Professor Quirrell?"

Snape's gaze narrowed. "Explain."

"Well… He never meets my eyes. The one and only time he did, was back durin' the welcomin' feast. It made my scar ache. And then, tonight, I read him with my empathy, an' he… was _really_ angry." Harry looked up at the potions master. "I _know _you know something. Please… What is goin' on?"

"You need not concern yourself with the Defense professor, Mr. Brewer. The headmaster and I have things well under control."

Harry snorted, "So… that troll was planned, was it?"

"I did not come here to speak of that, Brewer," Severus' voice was stern.

"Oh? Then why are ya here?"

"I was informed to provide you with the opportunity to train your natural skill in occlumency."

"Informed?"

Severus was slightly irritated at the boy's level of perception. "Yes, Brewer. The headmaster felt it would be beneficial."

"Guess I'll re-read that book you told me to look into, then." Harry replied.

"That would be best," Snape acknowledged before leaving Harry to ponder the many strange things around him.

* * *

**A/N2:** Aurilia? Where are you? You weren't online last night... I need the next few chapters... 


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Another shortie, but keep on reading, the last chapter that I'll post tonight should be up in a few minutes.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: A Letter for Remus **

_November 1, 1991  
Remus,_

_Something stranger than normal happened last night. A troll found its way inside the castle, nearly killed Hermione, and broke my arm before Dean, Ron, Seamus, and Neville managed to take it down. While this was going on – and I'll tell you the full story when next we meet – Professor Snape didn't follow the rest of the teachers to the dungeons where Quirrell had said the troll was. Now, as my friends and I located the troll several floors above the dungeon, I have to wonder if it was in the dungeon at all. It really didn't seem bright enough to have made its way to the girls' bathroom so quickly without help. I can't help but think that something's really __wrong__ with the defense professor; after the troll was dead and the teachers showed up, he was feeling so __angry__, but if you didn't know what he was really feeling, you'd think he was terrified of being in the same room as the troll, even though it was dead. And I think Snape knows what's going on, but he refuses to talk. Do you still think I should see about talking with Hagrid to find out what's going on? If so… Well… I don't really want to. He's so big, he looks as though he could break me in two if he were so inclined._

_While I was recovering in the hospital wing, Snape told me that I was going to start training in occlumency, because Dumbledore thought it would be a good idea. He wouldn't tell me why that was so, though.  
_

_Speaking of Dumbledore, he stopped by this morning, before class. What's with him and those lemon drops he keeps offering everyone? Does he lace them with something? Just guessing from his wardrobe, I'd say LSD, but he __could__ be colorblind, I guess. Anyway, he told me that Sirius was going to be released this afternoon. He also mentioned how it would probably be best for him to live somewhere he wasn't familiar with for a while, while he recovered. I take it that y'all's prison isn't like the ones in the US with cable television and a gym? I was thinking that he might want to visit with my mom and dad for a while, until he's recovered. I'm sure, since you're my friend, that you'd be welcome, too. I still have to ask Mom, but I don't think she'll mind. If I remember right, she had a hard time letting Snape and Dumbledore leave – she had a __lot__ of questions. If you're opposed to this, just let me know, and I won't bother asking her._

_I hope this finds you before Dumbledore arrives to get you to go get Sirius._

_-Harry_

Remus smiled at the latest letter from Harry before re-folding it and putting it into his pocket and giving the fluttering softball of an owl a bit of his sandwich from his lunch, reflecting as he did so that Harry really needed his own owl. "Stay a moment, will you?" The owl hooted contentedly, no doubt happier that Remus was no longer in Dublin.

Remus penned a quick response to Harry, saying that, unless Sirius was against staying with Harry's family, he had no objections with it. He also warned that he would be expecting the full tale of the incident with the troll the first time he saw Harry.

* * *

**Beta's Note:** Sorry about the delay on getting these to you, we had some thunderstorms the last two nights that knocked our satellite connection wonky.

I read through your reviews, Aramie. You should remind the nitpickers that this is AU and that most deviations from cannon are there for a reason.

**A/N2:** Finally! I thought there was something wrong with you or something, Aurilia. And why should I remind them of something that's obvious?


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** This is the chapter where that background slash I mentioned comes into the story. Don't fret too much about it, it's not graphic and consists mostly of flirting in Latin.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Sirius Black**

"Good evening, Mrs. Brewer," Albus greeted Aurilia through the floo.

"Hello, Albus, and I thought I asked you several times to call me 'Aurilia' when you were here?" Aurilia grinned at the headmaster and finished drying her hands. She had been in the middle of finishing up a batch of lotions when the floo chimed. "Everything all right with Harry?" she asked, worry for her son never far from her mind.

"Harry is quite all right," Albus reassured Aurilia. "However, there was an incident last night concerning a troll on the school grounds, but no lasting damage was done, so I shall leave that as a story for him to tell. No, my call today has little to do with your son and more to do with another young man."

Aurilia took a seat on the hearth. "What do you mean?"

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry's voice sounded in the background of the floo call.

"Ah, young Mr. Brewer. I was just speaking with your mum," Dumbledore said, his head turning in the fire, presumably to look at Harry.

"Good, I wanted to talk to her, too," Aurilia heard Harry say. The floo version of Albus Dumbledore's head disappeared and was momentarily replaced by that of Harry. "Hey Mom. I've got a favor to ask," he started, then went on to outline what had happened with Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black. When he finished with that, Aurilia asked about the troll.

Harry grinned, "That wasn't connected, an' I'll tell y'all 'bout it on Thanksgiving."

Aurilia replied to Harry's request by saying that she would talk to Jim and Dave about it and call them back the next day.

And so, a week later, Sirius Black, still trying to remind himself that he was well and truly free, stepped from the floo in the Headmaster's Suite in Hogwarts and into a two-story farmhouse a half a world away, where a waiting Remus Lupin caught him. "Hey," Sirius smiled.

"Hey yourself," Remus replied with an ear-splitting grin. He'd come ahead to get to know Aurilia, Jim, and Dave a little before Sirius showed up. Aside from that first day when he and Dumbledore retrieved Sirius from Azkaban, this was the first chance he'd had to see Sirius. Sirius had spent the majority of the intervening week at Saint Mungo's, being force-fed a multitude of potions. Among the potions Sirius had to choke down were some magic-restoratives, nutrient potions, a long-term low-level cheering potion – _that_ had tasted more like hot chocolate than an actual potion – and several remedies for miscellaneous health issues he'd been suffering from – including pneumonia and a lowered circulation to his extremities. The only thing that Sirius could really remember from that first day was his three-hour-long bath. It had felt so good to get _clean_ after ten years living in his own filth. He was even happier the day he was released from the hospital and Albus gave him his wand. His first spell was a shaving charm, followed by the charm he had always used to trim his hair.

Remus reflected that Sirius, though pale and still somewhat thin, had never looked better. He helped him to his feet then engulfed the blue-eyed wizard in a hug that could have rivaled Hagrid in sheer force. "obsĕcro mihi ignōscas, mel meum (1). I never should have believed those lies… Should have known better… Known _you_ better…" Remus' voice was tight, and Sirius could tell he was just barely holding onto his composure by the skin of his teeth.

"hac lege mihi purgatus eris, si, quod cessatum est in officio sarcias (2)," Sirius replied softly, holding Remus' shoulders so he could look him in the eye. "nemo est mortalium, qui sapiat omnibus horis (3)."

Remus' eyes were glassy; he was moments from losing it completely. "gratia Merlin, quod nobis incolumis redisti, Padfoot (4)."

"benigne (5), Moony, it's good to be back," Sirius took a deep breath and tried to shake off the melancholy air that threatened to drown both of them. He cocked his head to the side at the unfamiliar scents on the air. "I really can tell I'm not in England – or Scotland, for that matter. And is that dinner I smell?"

Remus laughed, "Don't ever change, Padfoot."

"Has our other guest finally arrived?" Sirius turned towards the door when he heard an unfamiliar woman's voice come from the same direction as the sweet smell of something baking and the faint sizzle of frying meat.

"Yes," Remus shouted back. "That's Aurilia Brewer, Harry's mum."

Sirius nodded, he'd spoken several times with Albus over the course of the last week, and had been brought up-to-speed on the many, many events he had missed while in Azkaban. "What's for dinner?" he asked, his stomach rumbling to stress his words. Though his appetite wasn't quite back to its pre-prison state, it was close, and he found himself unaccountably worried about food. He was told by a mind-healer that the obsession would pass with time.

"I don't know," Remus grinned. "Every time I asked, I was run out of the kitchen with a spatula. All I can tell is that it's beef of some sort."

Sirius chuckled. "Reminds me of what Lily used to do to me and James when she was feeling particularly exasperated."

"I know," Remus replied. "Since I'm sure we've still got a bit before dinner's ready, I'll show you around some. The grand tour can wait until tomorrow, but we can get your things put away, at least."

"Lead onward," Sirius said, grabbing a hold of the backpack of things he'd brought with him with one hand and wrapping his other arm around Remus' shoulders. Remus showed Sirius around the ground floor of the house, making sure to point out the water closet through the door under the stairs before taking him up to the second floor and their room. Sirius quirked an eyebrow at the guest room before Remus could even open the door. "One room?" he asked.

Remus smiled a little wistfully, "They only have the one extra room, Padfoot, though Aurilia did mention that there's another in Dave's house, if you'd rather. I suppose I _was_ a little too presumptuous – "

Sirius laid a finger over Remus' lips, halting what the werewolf was going to say. "non ita, mi amorium. persuade tibi (6), though I would rather the last ten years had never happened, I still _remember_, Remus. The dementors may have _tried_ to take all my good memories, but _I still have them_."

Remus could hear what Sirius didn't say out loud, 'I still have _you_.' He suddenly felt like he did when they were sixteen and trying to figure out just why it was that neither of them wanted much to do with girls, despite James' longing for Lily and Peter's rather crude descriptions of what he wanted to do to half the girls in the school over the age of fourteen. _How is it that even after all this time, after all the hell we've both been through, he can still say or do something that makes me feel like none of it ever happened?_ He nodded and opened the door, "In that case, I won't suggest transfiguring the bed," he smiled and took Sirius' backpack.

Sirius looked around the room and flopped onto the bed. "You still carry chocolate everywhere?"

Remus nodded while opening the pack and setting to putting Sirius' clothes into the chest of drawers. "It's in the right pocket of my robe there," he jerked his chin towards a coat-rack in the corner behind the door.

Still feeling a little euphoric after the return of his wand, Sirius accioed a chocolate frog from Remus' robe. He was under strict instructions from the mediwizards to partake of at least twenty grams of chocolate daily, until he was back to a healthy weight. He had also been ordered to get plenty of exercise – something that wouldn't be that difficult, as Sirius eating chocolate had the same effect of feeding caffeine to a five-year-old; he became hyperactive.

Munching on the frog, Sirius asked, "So… what's it like here?"

Remus, pleased to see that Albus had warned Sirius to pack primarily muggle clothes, started putting sweaters on hangars, "It's busy, or so I've seen. Mornings are very early – they're up before the sun. Bedtime comes just as early, though, and the last couple of days, I've been helping out. They raise horses, and there are a smattering of other animals about the place. There's a golden retriever, just to warn you ahead of time. Her name's Missy."

Sirius snickered, "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Remus shrugged, "I don't know what you mean, Padfoot. There's a good sized forest outside, even though it's too dark to see it properly just now. The people seem friendly enough, and one of Harry's friends drops by every couple of days."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Aurilia's been training her in muggle herbology – Aurilia owns an herbalist store. The girl's name is A.J., and she's an astute little witch. Managed to figure out I was a werewolf in only three hours, from a startlingly few number of clues."

Sirius finished off the chocolate frog and let out a low whistle. "Damn, and to think, it took me and James almost a year to puzzle it out. How did she suss it?"

Remus had just finished hanging up Sirius' shirts and was saved from replying by a shout up the stairs, "Dinner's ready!" A couple of seconds later, a fainter shout of the same words followed.

"Shall we?" Sirius asked, jumping up from the bed.

Remus chuckled. It was really good to have Sirius back. "Of course," he replied.

Dinner turned out to be steak – medium rare, apparently all five of them preferred their steak the same way – with twice-baked potatoes. As had been the case with almost every dinner Remus had partaken of in the Brewer household, there was also bread and butter and a salad. Dinner also provided Remus with the chance to observe some of the changes Sirius had gone through. Though he savored every bite of his steak, he also ate three plates of salad – something the old Sirius would never have done.

"Remus tells us you were once an auror?" Aurilia said, helping the baby with his dinner.

Sirius nodded, "That I was," he admitted, "Though I don't think I'll be continuing in that particular profession."

"It's not like you have to work," Remus commented while he sectioned the steak into individual bites.

"Why not?" Jim asked. "From what I been told, an auror is somethin' like a policeman, only more excitin'."

Sirius looked up from his plate, "Simply put, it was in the discharge of my duties as an auror that I was framed by Pettigrew."

"noli tumultuari, amorium (7). It was a long time ago," Remus could tell Sirius was getting angry.

"abi in malam rem! non sum ignarus (8), Remus, but it may as well have been yesterday, too!" Sirius took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "My apologies, ma'am. My outburst was uncalled for."

Aurilia shrugged it off, "No harm done. I figure, if anyone's deserved an outburst or two, it'd be you. And call me Aurilia. My name isn't 'ma'am.'"

Sirius chuckled and returned to his food. "I have to admit, seeing the three of you is somewhat disconcerting."

"How so?" Dave asked, piling more potatoes onto his plate.

"Well… It's that the three of you resemble some people I used to know, only… It's more like there's just enough of the person I know in you three that I keep expecting the other person to come into the room…"

Remus looked up, "Who?"

"Well… Dave here looks like Davey Gudgeon, only without the appalling taste in clothes and the quidditch scar. Jim looks quite a bit like a taller version of Ted Tonks – you know, he married my cousin, Andromeda. And Aurilia looks more like Lily than her own sister does." Sirius fell silent for a moment, crunching through a mouthful of shredded carrot and lettuce. He smiled a little and commented, "And add to Aurilia's resemblance to Lily, Jim's name being almost the same as James'."

Dave broke down laughing at that.

"What's so funny?" Sirius asked.

"Jim ain't short for 'James,'" he gasped out. "It's – ow!"

Jim had elbowed his brother none too gently. "Shut your mouth, big brother, before I hafta shut it for ya."

Dave looked crestfallen until Aurilia caught his eye and smirked, "Jim is actually his initials in a pronounceable form. His full name is 'Jonquil in the Morning.'"

Jim leveled a glare at his wife. "Not fair, honey."

"Oh, shush it, dear," she replied. "Consider it penance for hitting someone at my dinner table."

Though Sirius was sorely tempted to laugh, he decided not to, at least not where Jim could hear him; though he had magic at his disposal, he was pretty sure Jim could take him if he were so inclined. "Interesting name… How did you come by it?"

"Mom's half-Cherokee," Dave explained. "It's a Native American naming tradition for the father to be blindfolded and led outside, whatever he sees first is what the kid gets named." He turned to Jim, "It coulda been worse, ya know. You coulda been called 'Idling Toyota.' Or even worse – 'Squatting Dog .'"

Sirius snickered, "So is that how you were named, as well?"

Dave nodded, "Yeah, but I got lucky. The first thing Pop saw when I was born was a billboard tryin' ta raise interest in the arts. It showed a picture of the Statue of David - I'm just glad Ma had her way, otherwise I'd be answerin' ta 'Bill'."

When dinner was done – dessert was a thick chocolate layer cake with chocolate frosting – Jim and Dave set to clearing the table and Aurilia took Cyrus upstairs for his bath. "There a chessboard in this place?" Sirius asked. Remus smiled and hurried up to their room. He returned to the living room and set it up on the coffee table.

Remus was surprised to find that Azkaban hadn't hurt Sirius' game play at all, and realized that this game – like the many games they'd played in the past – would likely end in a stalemate. He sighed and looked to the pieces, trying to figure out what he could do to keep that from happening. "Iffen I was you, I'd move the bishop, an' take his rook." Both Sirius and Remus jumped at the sound of Dave's voice.

"You play?" Remus asked.

Dave nodded, "Yeah. Ain't much to do on sheep-watch most nights. Jim an' I used to work on a sheep ranch out in Montana, an' neither of us is all that great at playin' cards - 'cept for poker, an' that ain't no fun with only two. Hafta say I ain't seen a board where the pieces move on their own 'fore, though."

"It's a wizarding chess set," Sirius explained as he watched Remus' bishop annihilate his rook. The pieces appeared on the side of the board, and Dave watched in amazement as the rook knitted itself back together. The move Dave had suggested proved to be the key to ending the draw – though it was Sirius who eventually won. "Care for another game?" he asked.

Remus shook his head, "No, mi amorium (9), I don't think so."

"I'll play ya," Dave said just as Jim entered the room. With Jim and Remus watching in interest, Sirius reset the board and was hard-pressed to keep from grinning while his little brother got thoroughly trounced by the visiting wizard. By the end of the game, Sirius was starting to feel the effects of the chocolate; his foot was bouncing and he kept fidgeting.

"non tu te cohĭbes, Sirius! (10)" Remus exclaimed, exasperated with the incessant motion.

"haec res male urit te? (11)" Sirius grinned.

"sic, ut dici vix possit, (12)" Remus rubbed a hand across his face.

Jim and Dave exchanged a curious look, "Um…" Jim said. "Just what're y'all sayin'?"

"Sirius ate chocolate. I'm somewhat surprised he's not literally bouncing off the walls right now," Remus explained, slightly amused.

Jim shook his head in bemusement while he checked his watch. "I'd tell y'all to go take a walk, but neither of y'all really know the area that well. Don't want y'all ta get lost. It's comin' up on ten, though, so I think I'm gonna head to bed. Mornin' comes early, so if you want breakfast, you'll be up around five-thirty or so."

Sirius nodded, "Sure," while Dave stood and stretched.

"Goodnight," Dave said before heading towards the back door and the path to the cottage. Jim similarly bid Sirius and Remus a good night before heading upstairs.

"What about you?" Sirius asked. "Are you tired, too?"

Remus shook his head. "Not particularly."

"Me, neither," he grinned. "What do you propose we do about that?"

Remus returned the grin, "I can think of a thing or two."

"Really?" Sirius asked in mock-innocence. "And just what might those be?"

Remus got up from the armchair he was sitting in and pulled Sirius to his feet. "I'm sure you can guess, Padfoot," he murmured before stretching up to reach Sirius' lips with his own.

The next morning found Aurilia standing in the doorway to her guests' room, light from the hall spilling across the bed. She was smiling tenderly at the two men. The taller of the two – Sirius – was curled almost impossibly small, and Remus was wrapped protectively around him. _It's criminal that they were forced to spend so much time apart, Remus thinking his lover had betrayed not only their friend, but him, too._ Her smile faded as she stepped silently back into the hall, closing the door behind her. _If I ever find the guy responsible for that – never mind that he's in prison right now – I'll skin him and use his carcass to decorate for Halloween. Love's too precious to be squandered on fears and doubts, regrets and longing_.

* * *

**A/N2:** See? The slash isn't going to get any more explicit than this, no matter how much fans of the subgenre might beg. 

**A/N3: **(August 25, 2007) I located my Latin phrasebook, so here are the translations for what Sirius and Remus are saying:

1. _obsĕcro mihi ignōscas, mel meum_ – Please forgive me, sweetheart  
2. _hac lege mihi purgatus eris, si, quod cessatum est in officio sarcias_ – You will be forgiven on condition that you try to make up what you have missed.  
3. _nemo est mortalium, qui sapiat omnibus horis_ – We all have our moments of weakness  
4. _gratia Merlin, quod nobis incolumis redisti_ – Thank Merlin that you're safely back  
5. _benigne _– Thank you  
6. _non ita, mi amorium. persuade tibi _– No, my love. Rest assured  
7. _noli tumultuari, amorium_ – Don't get into a state, love  
8. _abi in malam rem! non sum ignarus_ – Go to blazes! I'm well aware of that  
9. _mi amorium _– my love  
10. _non tu te cohĭbes_ – Restrain yourself  
11. _haec res male urit te? _– Does this annoy you?  
12. _sic, ut dici vix possit_ – I can hardly say how much


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reads! Also, I hope to go back through and clean up the German useage in this story. For those of you who want to know what was said in Latin - I'll post the translation once I find the book I got it out of (honestly though, they were _flirting_. Do you really _want_ to know?)

* * *

**Chapter Twelve:** **Holiday Planning**

During the second week of November, several parcels arrived, much to the delight of the Gryffindor first year boys. Even Hermione became enthusiastic when the boys told her about starting a band. She told them, "I've always wanted to learn an instrument, but with Mum and Dad's work schedules, I never got the chance." Harry promised to let her sit in on the keyboard lessons with Neville.

Ron and Neville took to their music lessons with a will that Hermione wryly noted they should save for their homework. This earned her a good-natured ribbing about her own lack of skill, which she took at face-value. It was odd for her though; she'd never really had friends before, but by the time Harry took off for Thanksgiving dinner with his family, she wondered how she'd ever gotten along without them.

Thanksgiving at the Brewer house was a quiet affair, filled with stories from his folks about their childhoods and stories from Remus and Sirius about the many pranks the Marauders pulled throughout their tenure at Hogwarts. Harry, in exchange, told everyone the full story of the Halloween Troll Incident and all about his first quidditch game. It was against Slytherin, and Harry regaled them with a play-by-play, holding off until the very end to reveal how he'd managed to snatch the snitch right out from under the Slytherin seeker's nose. During the dinner, Harry also found out that the surprise mentioned in one of his mom's letters – forgotten until she mentioned it over pumpkin pie – was that she and Jim were expecting another addition to the Brewer family in late June. Harry was happy for his parents, and only a _little_ jealous. A.J. spent Friday night at the Brewer house, and Harry and she traded spells that they'd learned. They even got a couple of nifty pranking charms from Sirius and Remus – of course, the older wizards only consented to teach them when Harry's parents weren't in the room. Harry returned to Hogwarts on Sunday afternoon. Since he hadn't been gone that long, jet-lag was minimal, as was the homework he'd missed.

As November drew to a close and December began, Harry started going through the catalogs in the library, picking out Yule gifts for everybody. He selected a kit of magical paints – the kind used to make wizarding portraits – for Dean, since he loved drawing and painting almost as much as messing around with music. He got Ron a book of songs for the guitar – the book actually played the song before going into the how-to of playing it yourself. When he was looking for something for Seamus, he noticed that though one had to be twenty-one to drink in the US and eighteen to drink in Britain, there was no posted age requirement to order a microbrewery kit. He grinned when he added it to the order form, recalling the numerous times Seamus had managed to make his goblet explode in the Great Hall, trying to turn his juice into something with more 'kick'. Neville would be receiving a pocket herbology guide that detailed the more rare plants as Harry was sure that his friend already knew all the common ones. For the twins, Harry ordered a mixed selection of muggle pranks and practical jokes as well as a whole case of multicolored Silly String. For his dad, he ordered a new bow for his fiddle and some resin. Dave would be getting a Braves jersey, and his mom would be getting a book on very simple magical herbal remedies that muggles could brew - the book had been written for squibs. He ordered a leather-bound volume of the collected works of Shakespeare for A.J. and a thick plush blanket for Nana. For Remus, he selected a stylish, gold, self-inking quill and a packet of parchment and envelopes. After getting the chance to meet and talk with his godfather, Sirius had joined in with writing letters to Harry. Harry was even treated to a display of his animagus transformation during Thanksgiving weekend. So when he saw the little stone figurine of a black dog that closely resembled Sirius' animagus form, Harry couldn't resist ordering it for him.

Hermione, though, was proving singularly hard to shop for. Harry knew she liked to study and read quite a bit, but other than that he wasn't sure what she enjoyed. He didn't want to get her a book; he had no idea what she already owned. It was three days before the start of the winter holidays when he saw her shivering her way through the hallways. Harry grinned and managed to bribe the twins into cornering her and getting some vital information for him. While George bombarded her with questions about how she thought two particular transfigurations would interact – 'Because McGonagall keeps telling everyone how you're a natural in her class,' – Fred snuck up behind her and checked the tag in the back of her robe. It cost Harry a future round of butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, but he felt it was well worth it. He ordered Hermione a copy of her cloak that had permanent warming charms.

On the day before everyone was due to leave for the holidays, Harry noticed that Percy, Fred, George, and Ron signed up to stay at the school. "What's up, y'all? Though ya were goin' back to the Burrow for hols?"

"Change of plan," George said.

"Mum and Dad are going to Romania to visit our brother, Charlie," Fred finished.

Harry frowned before snapping his fingers as an idea hit. "I know! What if y'all came to my place for the holidays? I know Mom an' Dad won't mind. You, too, Percy."

"I really don't think –" Percy started, but Harry interrupted him.

"Silencio, por favor, mi hombre. Look, I'm sorry for what I said that first day before we took the train, but you were really bein' bossy. I understand you don't approve of rule-breakin', and with Gred and Forge as brothers, I can't say as I blame ya none. But, ya know, ya really need ta learn to loosen up a bit. Ben Franklin said it best, 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.'"

Percy shook his head, "It's not that… Well, it _is_, but that wasn't what I was going to say. I just meant that Christmas is a time for family."

Harry grinned, "But, Percy, aren't friends the family you _choose_? That's what Dad always says." To the collected astonishment of Ron and the twins, Percy looked thoughtful. "Tell ya what, Perce, I'll make ya a deal. Iffen I promise not to deliberately get into trouble for the rest of the year, you'll agree to this little scheme of mine, an' try ta have fun while we're back home."

Percy thought about this for several minutes. Fred and George were mercifully silent during the entire process. Finally, Percy spoke. "You mean to say you will voluntarily leave the Slytherins alone? Not sneak off the grounds? Stop encouraging the twin terrors?"

Harry nodded solemnly, though how Percy knew about his trip to Hogsmeade he had no idea. "You've got my word on that. An' ya know my word is unbreakable – don't wanna get kicked outta the Scouts, after all." He grinned at the fifth year prefect.

Percy offered his hand, "You have yourself a deal – though I doubt that Mum and Dad will be so easy to convince."

Harry shook Percy's hand, smiling. "Oh, I dunno 'bout that. Mom can be pretty persuasive when she wants ta be."

Harry hurried to the headmaster's office to floo home. When he explained the situation, his mom smiled like she knew something he didn't, and said, "I'm sure we can find room for your friends, luz." Albus, for his part, was twinkling madly in the background the entire time. When Harry finished talking with his mom, the headmaster flooed Molly Weasley for Harry.

"Albus! This is a surprise. What have the twins done now?" Molly asked, answering the call.

"Good day, Molly. Please set your mind at ease – Fred and George are not the purpose behind my call today; I have someone else who wanted to speak with you," the headmaster replied before turning the call over to Harry.

"Howdy, ma'am. I'm a friend of Ron and the twins. My name's Harry Brewer," Harry smiled charmingly at the redheaded matron of the Weasley clan.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brewer," Molly replied. "Ron has written me about you."

"Hope it weren't nothin' too bad," Harry said.

Molly shook her head, "No. I understand you're responsible for Ron's interest in music?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah. I been teachin' him the guitar when we're not studyin' for class."

"Thank you for that, dear. I had wanted to make sure all my children were versed in an instrument, but with life being what it is, I never had the chance."

"Don't mention it, it's my pleasure," Harry replied. "To get down ta brass tacks, ma'am, I was callin' ta ask y'all a favor."

Molly chuckled a little at Harry's muggle turn of phrase. "And what can I do for you, Mr. Brewer?"

"Harry, please, ma'am. I learned that you an' Mr. Weasley will be goin' ta Romania ta visit y'all's son, Charlie, that right?"

Molly nodded, "That's correct. We will be taking our daughter, Ginerva, with us as well."

"That means Ron, Fred, George, and Percy will all hafta stay here over the hols, though."

"Yes, Harry. My husband was called to lecture on muggle technology at a conference not far from where Charlie works and we couldn't pass up the opportunity to see Charlie. I am wondering where you're going with this, though."

Harry grinned, "I just got done talkin' with Mom, an' she said that the boys are all welcome at our place over the hols. That is, if you agree."

"According to Ron's letters, your family lives in the States, is that right?" Molly asked, frowning a little at the thought of her sons being so far away.

Harry nodded, "That's right, ma'am. We live in southern Iowa."

"I don't know about this," Molly said, obviously ill-at-ease.

"How 'bout I give y'all Mom's floo address, so's y'all can talk with her 'bout it?" Harry offered.

"Perhaps that would be best," Molly acknowledged.

Harry scribbled the address down and slid it through the floo. "It's six hours earlier there, so you'll wanna call soon. Mom'll be leavin' for her store in about an hour."

"Thank you, Harry. I'll do just that," Molly replied, taking the slip of parchment. "I'll call in a few hours to let you know my decision."

"Thankee kindly, ma'am," Harry smiled again. "Iffen I don't get another chance, I hope you have a happy holiday."

"You as well, Harry."

The call ended and Harry thanked Dumbledore for the use of the floo. Before he was about to leave, Albus said, "You are not quite how I'd imagined you would be, Mr. Brewer."

Harry stopped and turned to face the headmaster. Though he knew the man was inherently a good soul, Harry had never gotten over the feeling that he wasn't quite as open or honest as the image he projected. "How'd ya imagine me, sir?"

Albus shook his head, "I'm not sure… Less self-assured, perhaps. A touch more childlike."

Harry chuckled, "Why's that, sir?"

"Most eleven year-old boys wouldn't think to offer up their home to not only their friends, but a family member of their friends' with whom they hadn't gotten along in the past."

Harry shrugged, "I don't really hold nothin' against Percy. He's a little stuck on rules, an' spends too much time studyin', but ev'ryone has their faults. We struck a deal – if he an' the rest of the Weasleys are allowed to stay at my place for the hols, an' he tries ta have fun while we're there, I'll not deliberately break any more rules. I'm hopin' he can unbend a little. If he don't learn that, he's gonna end up workin' himself ta death."

"That is what I mean, Harry," Albus said, gesturing for Harry to take a seat. "You're uncommonly mature for your age."

"Mayhap it's 'cause Mom never really treated me like a kid growin' up. Or 'cause my best friend is two years older than me. Or 'cause of somethin' in my genetics. Who knows? I'm just me, sir, an' I don't know no other way ta be."

Albus nodded thoughtfully, "How are your occlumency lessons with Professor Snape?"

Harry sighed, "They ain't goin' all that well. Just when I think I got it, _finally_, my brain kicks in again and I lose my concentration."

"Perhaps all you need is some more practice," Albus opened a jar of peanut brittle and offered it to Harry. Harry took a piece and crunched on it. "And your other classes?"

"You don't expect me ta believe you don't get progress reports from the teachers, do ya?" Harry grinned.

"I do get reports, Harry, but I was wondering about your personal view of the classes."

"Well… I don't much like History of Magic. Can't stay awake. I always found it kinda funny that a subject that _should _be really excitin' – what with all the wars an' battles an' whatnot – gets boiled down 'til it's completely _dull_. It ain't just Professor Binns, it's all the history books I've ever read; they all make history so dry an' _boring_, though Binns does make it worse. Doesn't he know how to change his tone of voice?"

Albus laughed heartily. He knew the downsides to all his professors, and, had Binns not been a tenured employee when he took over as headmaster, he would have replaced the professor long ago. "What of your other classes? I know you take top marks in Defense, as well as Potions. I have to admit your standing in Professor Snape's class was surprising."

Harry shrugged again. "DADA is one of those classes where I don't seem to hafta study all that much, an' a lot of it is common sense. Potions ain't all that different than cooking or helpin' Mom with the stuff for the store. The hardest part is rememberin' all the ingredients, but if I read about them, I'll remember. Dunno why, but iffen I read somethin', it tends ta stick in my head forever. I may not 'member where I read it, or when, but the info stays with me. That's prob'ly why I got skipped a couple of grades in elementary school."

"Likely," Albus replied. "What of your other lessons?"

"Well… The one I have the hardest time with is Charms, even though it's my favorite class. It's _hard_, but I think that's why I like it. Professor Flitwick is a really good teacher, too. He always explains ev'rythin' before we do it, an' makes sure we understand what we're _tryin'_ ta do.

"I don't much see the need for Transfiguration, though it's easy enough. I mean, it even says in our books that transfigured items are never as good as the real thing, so why not just use the real thing? I can see how it'd come in handy in a pinch, like if you find yourself needin' a pair of scissors or a bucket temp'rarily, but I can't really picture that many times you'd need or _want_ to transfigure a beetle into a button or an animal into a water glass."

"I suppose I can understand your point of view, Harry, but it is a useful skill to have. If you become proficient enough at transfiguring, you can work it into magical duels. For example, how effective would your opponent's dueling be if he suddenly found that his robes were made of stone? Or that his feet had suddenly sunk into a floor turned into mud?"

"Hmm… Never really thought of it like that before," Harry admitted. "I will say that turnin' into an animal sounds really cool, though."

"Ah, yes, the animagus transformation. Tell me, Harry, if you could pick any animal to turn into, what would it be?"

Harry thought for a few minutes, "Well… I really like flyin', be it on a broom or in my plane, but I dunno if I'd wanna be a bird. Most birds aren't really all that smart, an' Sirius told me that you think like your animal form when you're in that form, for the most part. Likewise, I don't think I'd wanna be a bug. I'd be too afraid of someone squishin' me accidentally. I wouldn't wanna be a fish or anythin' that had ta breathe water 'cause it wouldn't really be all that useful. I also wouldn't wanna be nothin' that was too big to fit in a house, like a horse or bull… So, I s'pose I'd wanna be somthin' small, but not too small, that was smart an' quick. Not a cat, though. Never really liked cats all that much."

Albus chuckled and offered the jar of peanut brittle again. "Well-reasoned, Harry," he said.

"Can I ask you somethin', sir?"

"Certainly."

"Are you an animagus like Sirius and Professor McGonagall?"

The headmaster smiled, "Yes, Harry, I am."

"What's your form?"

"I'm sure if you thought about it long enough, you would be able to uncover that," he replied.

Harry crunched his brittle thoughtfully for a few minutes, but had his train of thought interrupted by a chime from the floo. Albus got to his feet and answered it. It was Molly Weasley, calling to say that she'd talked with Aurilia and her husband, and had decided to give her permission for her children to stay with the Brewers for the holiday break.

When Harry went to leave to bring the good news to his friends, Albus stopped him, "I do hope we get the chance to chat again in the future, Harry."

Harry smiled, "Me too, sir." Some of his apprehension about the headmaster had dissipated with their conversation. He still felt that Dumbledore was holding out on him, but he figured he'd be more likely to get that hidden information if he and the headmaster were on friendly terms.

* * *

**A/N2:** The actual scene wherein Harry and Sirius meet for the first time was cut because I felt it way too syrupy after the last chapter. If you really want to read it, I'll post it into Bonus Features when I'm done posting this book. 

In looking through my notes while working on Year Four, I have discovered that I've not yet named Harry's band. Anyone want to give it a shot? Small note on this - Hermione is doing the music thing as something to do, she's not a full-time member of the band.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Thanks again to everyone. Just a reminder - I'm looking for possible band names for the boys. I'd appreciate them in the next week or so, so I can make a decision and replace the '(insert band name)' places in my year four book.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Yule at the Ranch**

"Wow, mate, this place is pretty amazing," Ron said in wonder as the Weasleys' tour of the house and grounds drew to a close.

Harry grinned, "Thanks, Ron. I think so, too." Winter had transformed the Brewer property into a snow-covered landscape of quiet wilderness and soft beauty. Harry grinned a little and scooped up a handful of snow. He motioned for Ron to be quiet as he packed the snowball, took careful aim, and threw. It hit the back of Percy's robes and the older boy whirled around. Harry, wide-eyed in feigned innocence, pointed to Ron, "He did it!"

"What!" Ron protested, but didn't get very far.

Percy, rather than get angry as he would have at Hogwarts or the Burrow – his promise to Harry very much in mind – just shook off his cloak and walked over to the two first-years. The twins, who were watching the entire encounter, laughed, "He's in for it now."

"Too true, brother of mine."

"Percy's not getting mad…"

"…which means ickle Harrikins is about to get a tongue-lashing…"

"…to rival one of Mum's when she's on a tear."

When Percy reached where Harry and Ron were standing, he stood there, looking vaguely exasperated and disapproving. Then, suddenly, Percy tackled Harry into the snow. That seemed to be the signal for a free-for-all snow war, during which they all got thoroughly soaked and chilled. It was doubly fun, though, because no one was the 'winner.' Everyone got some good hits in, particularly after Harry reminded everyone that there were no underage magic laws in the US by levitating a massive snowball to hover over George's head. Jim and Dave, who were watching from the stable, even managed to land a couple of carefully placed snowballs.

Breathless, the five boys tumbled into the kitchen. "Anyone want any hot chocolate?" Harry asked. He received a round of affirmatives and started milk heating in a saucepan on the stove, while the others stripped out of their sodden cloaks, hanging them on pegs by the back door to dry. Not long after the Weasleys had taken seats around the breakfast table, Sirius and Remus apparated into the kitchen, startling everyone.

"Don't do that!" Harry shouted, picking up the spoon he'd dropped on the floor and tossing it into the sink.

Remus smiled, "Sorry, Harry. We were helping your mom over at the store, but she sent us over to meet you when you arrived. I take it we're late?"

"Only by three hours or so," Harry replied, pouring a bag of chocolate chips into the pan of simmering milk. "Oh, guys? This is Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. Remus, Sirius, these are Ron, George, Fred, and Percy Weasley." As Percy was the only one of the visiting Weasleys that habitually read the morning paper, he was the only one who recognized Sirius' name.

"What're you making, Harry?" Remus asked, peering over Harry's shoulder and into the large saucepan on the stove.

"Hot chocolate," he replied.

"Need any help?"

"Sure," he replied, even though he really didn't. Before long, everyone had a mug of coco, topped with cinnamon and miniature marshmallows.

While Harry and Ron talked about the guitar, Remus asked Percy about his classes, and the twins began planning a prank against Oliver Wood in retaliation for the early-morning quidditch practices. Sirius insinuated himself into the discussion. "No, no, no… that won't work. It would be obvious that it was a wizard behind it – and from what Harry tells us, you two are the notorious pranksters of Hogwarts. He would know immediately that it was you." Sirius said when the twins had outlined a plan to charm Oliver bald and hide all his hats.

"Well…" Fred said.

"…What would you propose?" finished George, a little skeptically.

Sirius grinned, "Just how well do you get along with Peeves?"

The twins exchanged an uneasy glance, "We don't…"

"…Not really, anyway."

"In that case, you'll want to do something that would immediately be blamed on the poltergeist, since you can't actually get _him_ to do it. You should _always_ cover your tracks. Half the fun of any prank is seeing someone else take the blame!"

Remus chuckled and paused his discussion with Percy on arithmancy, "He is right, you know. How much fun could you possibly have if you're stuck in detention? It took me forever to teach Padfoot that."

The twins' eyes grew round. "Padfoot?" was said in identical tones of awe.

"As in, Moony, Wormtail…" George was looking at Sirius in wonder.

"…Padfoot, and Prongs?" Fred's identical expression was aimed at Remus.

"The Marauders?" Fred and George got up from the table and bowed deeply to both of the adult wizards. Even Ron and Harry had stopped their conversation to watch the reaction of the twins.

Sirius and Remus exchanged amused glances. "Just how do you know about the Marauders?" Remus asked.

"On the second night…"

"…of first year…"

"…We got dragged into Filch's office…"

"…for something we actually _didn't_ do…"

"…but Dumbledore needed Filch for something…"

"…and we were left there…"

"…We knew Filch had to have confiscated _something_ useful…"

"…So we started rummaging around…"

"…but we didn't get very far…"

"…as we heard Filch and Dumbledore returning…"

"…So George grabbed this big, blank parchment…"

"…and Fred hid it in his pocket…"

"…just before the door opened…"

"…It took us a full week…"

"…to realize just what it was we'd nicked from Filch…"

"…and to discover the greatest pranksters of all time…"

"…in the Marauders Map!" Though the tale had been bounced between the two, they finished simultaneously, and Harry had to wonder how they did that without weeks of rehearsal and practice.

Percy was looking decidedly upset about the whole story, but was forced to halt any plans to turn in the twins upon returning to Hogwarts by Sirius' laugh. "From what Harry's said about you two, I can't imagine anyone more deserving of that map, right Moony?"

"Well, _we_ certainly don't need it anymore. It's best to keep it where it will do the most… er… good?"

"They've certainly proven themselves to be worthy of the status of 'Marauders-in-training,' don't you think?"

Remus nodded, "They _were_ able to unlock the map, after all."

Percy took the pause in conversation to interject, "I really don't think that's at all appropriate."

Remus smiled at the prefect. "Percy, Percy, Percy…" he tutted in mock-sadness. "I'll have you know I learned more about the practical applications of arithmancy – not to mention experimental charms, potions, and transfigurations – in the execution of pranks than I did the whole of my seventh year. Effective pranking requires not only a good imagination, but unparalleled research capabilities and a native intelligence."

"But, as a prefect, I can't condone it…"

"Oh, posh," Remus waived his hand. "I was a prefect, too, you know. And another of our Marauder comrades ended up as Head Boy. Just because you're in a position of authority doesn't mean you can't have a little fun, so long as no one gets hurt. In fact, I found that the younger years respected me more than they otherwise would have simply _because_ I knew when bending or breaking the rules was appropriate."

Sirius grinned, "And it helped that they also didn't know if – when you caught them doing something they shouldn't – it was Remus, the Prefect who caught them or Moony, the Marauder."

Remus nodded, "There was that." Percy's forehead wrinkled in thought as he stared into his half-finished mug of hot chocolate.

The remainder of the afternoon found everyone in the living room. The twins sat, taking notes, while Moony and Padfoot gave an impromptu lesson on the Arts of Pranking. Harry went over chords with Ron and Percy was supposedly working on his homework, but was more often seen watching the lesson Remus and Sirius were giving the twins. Harry was pretty sure the prefect took a couple of notes, as well.

At about five-thirty, Aurilia returned from the store. Harry sat his guitar to the side and hurried to the door. He took a slightly hyperactive Cyrus from her and lead his mom back to the living room, "Guys?" Everyone looked up from their respective activities. "This is my mom, Aurilia, and my little brother, Cyrus." He then pointed out all the Weasleys. Ron was last, and when he shook Aurilia's hand, his stomach growled. Harry laughed, "That is a good question. What's for dinner, Mom?"

"I figured we'd all go into Knoxville and eat out," she replied. "Celebration for completing your first semester and all that."

Though they were far from poor, the Brewers rarely ate out for a meal. Harry's interest perked up and he excitedly asked, "Really? Where?"

Aurilia smiled. "It's a surprise, luz, but you should all see about getting cleaned up. It's not fancy, so don't worry about dressing up, but you should change into some clean clothes."

"Speaking of clothes, Mrs. Brewer," Percy spoke up, "where will we be staying?"

"Oh, we've got something set up in the basement," she replied. Harry quirked an eyebrow at her. The last he knew, the basement was cement and cinderblocks, with an assortment of miscellaneous junk stored in the corner near the stairs and a cubby used as a tornado shelter. "Harry? Why don't you take your guests downstairs and get them settled? I'll go collect your dad and Dave. Why don't I give A.J. a call and see if she wants to come, too?"

"Oh-kay…" Harry wasn't sure what was going on, but knew the easiest way to find out would be to follow his mom's advice and see it for himself.

So, still carrying Cyrus, he led his friends – who had grabbed their trunks – through the doorway under the stairs to the second floor and into the basement. When he flicked on the light, he nearly dropped Cy in shock. "Damn…" he whistled. "Dad an' Dave musta got _bored _while I was gone."

What used to be a cement hole under the house was now a series of rooms. A dark green carpet had been laid down in the main area, the room in which the stairs emerged, and the cinderblocks were hidden by wooden paneling. A regulation-sized pool table stood to one side, and there were several comfortable brown armchairs and a matching sofa arranged to face a rather large television. On the shelves below the massive screen was the distinctive gray box of a Super Nintendo and a stack of games. There was a bright yellow sticky-note on the screen of the television. Harry wandered over and read it out loud, "Merry Yule, Harry. Mom and I thought you'd appreciate the changes, especially if you keep having friends over."

"You all right, Harry?" one of the twins asked. Since Harry wasn't looking, he wasn't sure if it was Fred or George.

Harry nodded, "Yeah… It's just that when I left for school, this used to be a _lot_ different. Just cement and cinderblocks and a bunch of junk…"

"Well, let's see what's here, yeah?" Ron said, setting his trunk down and heading to the only visible door.

Harry nodded, "Yeah. I know it'll take an hour or two for Mom and Dad to get ready to go for dinner…"

They discovered that the basement – which was the same size as the first floor of the house – now sported, in addition to the game room, two more bathrooms and four more bedrooms. Harry wondered where all the junk had been moved to when one of the twins pointed out the almost-hidden door at the end of the hall. It led to a storage room that was still cement and cinderblocks, and encompassed one whole side of the house, though it was only six feet or so wide. Harry saw that everything had been organized, too. He spotted the boxes of Yule decorations and suddenly realized what their project for the next day was going to be.

The bedrooms were arranged so that two shared a bathroom. The twins claimed the room that had a bunk-bed, while Percy took one that had a desk. Ron decided to take the room that would share its bathroom with Percy, rather than the one with the twins. _It is…heh… _safer_ that way_, Harry thought and helped everyone get their things settled. About an hour after Aurilia had made her enigmatical statement to Harry, her voice sounded from the top of the stairs, "You boys about ready?"

"Yeah," several replies echoed back to her. Harry had, of course, gone to his own room to change. Everyone emerged from their respective stairways and into the hallway at roughly the same time. All the Weasleys were wearing thick sweaters and either jeans or corduroys. Harry was wearing a sweatshirt in Braves colors and jeans, too. Since there were so many of them – twelve in total, once A.J. was added to the mix – they had to take both the van and the pickup truck. The van could seat seven – two in the front, two in the middle, and three across the back – and the pickup could seat five – it had a narrow bench seat behind the main seats. Jim drove the van, and Percy, Cyrus, Aurilia, Ron, and Harry piled in, saving a seat for when they picked up A.J. Dave drove the truck, and Remus, Sirius, and the twins rode with him – Harry had no doubt as to the conversation within the truck, even Dave was something of a prankster.

When A.J. joined them, she immediately began a lengthy discussion with Harry on the good and bad points of Bram Stoker's Dracula. Though he knew Harry read almost as much as that Hermione girl, Percy found that he had severely underestimated Harry's intelligence. He'd read the book the previous summer, and even _he_ had some difficulty following the discussion. When the discussion turned to magical theory, he was even more surprised. The twenty-minute ride into Knoxville was eye-opening, to say the least. Dinner was at a restaurant called 'Tasos,' it specialized in steak, but also had a wonderful selection of Greek food. Almost everyone fell asleep on the ride back to the ranch.

Harry's assumptions about their second day of vacation proved to be correct. After taking care of the animals, Jim lead an expedition into the forest after a tree. While Jim cut it down and Dave, with the help of the twins, tied it up for the journey back to the house, Harry explained how they would plant a replacement tree not too far from the stump on May first. The rest of the day was spent in hanging lights, stringing popcorn and dried cranberries, laying out holly and mistletoe, and decorating the tree.

A couple of days later, Harry decided that it was time to introduce the Weasleys to the sledding hill on the back half of the brewer property. The name of the hill had come with the property, and Harry felt it was aptly named. The sledding run was about three hundred yards from start to finish, and lay at roughly a thirty-five-degree vertical angle. There were three short flat spots, one about twenty yards down from the top, the second at about fifty yards down, and the third precisely halfway down. At the end of the run was a thicket of raspberry and wild rose bushes, beyond the thorny copse was a small cliff that dropped fifteen feet straight down into a marshy bog of cattails and bull-thistle. The name of the run was 'Suicide Hill.' Every year, Harry's family had to run kids off the property – kids whose parents had sledded there as children and in turn told their own children of the massive run.

Everyone – Percy included – had a lot of fun, once they learned that the trick to the hill was to lay completely flat on the sled and roll off as soon as it landed from jumping the third flat spot. Of course, they couldn't always stay on long enough to get that far, and they were all sporting bruises and scrapes when they headed back to the house for hot chocolate, but Harry felt that Fred had it right when he mentioned, "This is almost more fun – and definitely more dangerous – than quidditch!" They even managed to recruit Missy into helping them drag the sleds to the top after Harry said the run was even more worth it if they had to hike all the way to the top without magic to help them.

That night, Percy went back out to the hill while everyone was asleep. There was a tall black walnut tree that marked the beginning of the run, and one of the branches had been hit by lightning. Percy used his wand to finish severing the branch from the tree and selected a section of it, cutting away the extraneous branches. He spent the better part of an hour rolling it back to the house. He had seen several tools he would need in the workshop adjacent to the stable. He just hoped that he could keep this a secret from the Brewers. He worked on it every night, from midnight until two or sometimes even four o'clock in the morning. It helped that his brothers knew he never really enjoyed breakfast, and so was allowed to sleep in a bit more than everyone else.

On December twentieth – the day before Yule – Aurilia announced that she was heading into Knoxville to finish up her gift-shopping. Harry pulled his mom aside and told her what to pick up for Percy. Dave joined her on her trip.

On Yule, the Brewers threw their traditional party, making sure to warn their magical guests not to discuss or use magic until the party was over with. There were dozens of people who arrived, including the Penbrokes and the Simpsons. Much to Aurilia's embarrassment, she was talked into singing a traditional Wiccan Yule carol – _Hail the Holly King_. Though she hated being the center of attention, she did have a rather pleasant contralto, and since Harry knew the song, he accompanied her on the piano. That lead to a round of playing for Jim, Dave, Harry, and Sarah. When they finished a particularly tricky round-style song, Ron looked a little dispirited. Harry had to reassure him that he would eventually be able to play that fast, and went on to describe how it _sounded_ more difficult than it _was_. By the time the party drew to a close, everyone was ready for bed, though Aurilia and Harry disappeared into her magick workroom for a couple of hours after the last person left.

On Christmas Eve, Percy was just about to head out to put the final touches on the gift he was making for the Brewer household, when he heard voices coming from the twins' room. "No, if we add more hellebore, it'll neutralize too much of the acromantula venom," Percy thought it might have been George, but couldn't tell for sure.

"Not if we make sure to halve the simmer-time. And if we add the bezoar powder exactly three seconds after the augury feather, we won't have to worry about finding a nonreactive gel to suspend it in, it'll gel on its own."

"I know that, but I still say adding more hellebore is a bad decision. This is _Veritaserum_, after all, not just some silly cure for _boils_. We can't afford to make mistakes, it has to be _exact_."

"Come on, let's go over the arithmancy again."

Percy blinked. Neither of the twins were _taking_ Arithmancy. Likewise, they were discussing altering the recipe for a NEWT-level potion as though they knew what they were doing. _Either they've been throwing their grades, or they've figured out I head out at this time and are pranking me…_ The real hell of it for Percy was that either option was as probable as the other. He decided to hold off judgment until he had a chance to sneak into their room and take a look at the notes they obviously had stashed somewhere, and continued out to the workshop to finish his gift.

Christmas morning dawned grey and listless. There was a heavy scent of snow in the air. Percy hadn't even bothered going to sleep – he'd not finished the last of the charms until it was nearing the time that the Brewers began getting up, anyway. Besides, he was a little old to be believing in Father Christmas. If his brothers were surprised to find him already awake when they entered his room, they didn't show it. He was laughingly bundled into his jumper from the previous Christmas by the twins and joined everyone in the formal dining room for breakfast, though he only had coffee and some toast. He helped clear up the dishes while Jim, Dave, and Harry tended the animals in record time.

When all the chores were taken care of, everyone gathered in the living room to unwrap gifts. Molly had flooed the Weasley's gifts over before they left for Romania, so everyone had a pile of presents. A.J. had even gotten everyone something – all her presents turned out to be long, crocheted scarves. Harry's was sky blue, and Cyrus received an identical one of an appropriate size for the toddler. Even the Weasley boys received a scarf each. Fred got a red one with yellow fringe and George's was yellow with red fringe – they also had a note that said 'Maybe now people can start to tell you apart!' Percy's was black and white, and Ron's was orange – during one of the afternoons where A.J. had come over, she'd learned of his obsession with the Chudley Cannons. Harry snickered when Ron put it on; the bright orange lying on the dark maroon of his sweater made it look as though his friend was about to start blinking.

Harry received, among other things, a broomstick maintenance kit from Hermione, an ivory guitar pick from Neville, an emerald green sweater from Molly Weasley, and an invisibility cloak from Albus with a note that told him it used to belong to his father. When he opened it, Harry reflected that he needed to go through the objects vault at Gringotts again. He had nothing that belonged to his mother. From Sirius, he received an English version of the Latin volume in his trunk on the animagus transformation. Remus gave almost the same gift to Harry as Harry had gotten for him – a stationary set. Aurilia just laughed when they opened each others' presents and said, "Great minds think alike."

When everyone else was done, Dave unobtrusively asked Percy to step into the hallway with him. "What do you need, sir?"

Dave chuckled, "Just Dave, please. I noticed you workin' on somethin' in the workshop over the last week. Dunno if I was s'posed ta see it, but I did. You've got real skill, you know that? Anyway, I 'member what it was like ta be fifteen, so I thought you might wanna open this one away from your brothers." He grinned a little and handed over a shoddily-wrapped gift. It was heavier than it looked; Percy nearly dropped it. He stripped off the paper to reveal a leather bundle. He unrolled it to reveal a complete set of woodworking chisels and knives.

"Wow…" he was stunned. That a man who seemed so… ignorant… could pick such a perfect gift rendered him nearly speechless. "Th-thank you."

Dave shrugged, "Don't mention it. You shoulda lemme know what you were up to – I still don't know what it was you were workin' on, I only saw it the once, an' you were barely started – but you shouldn't hafta work with inferior tools. I saw ya had 'borrowed' a pairing knife from the kitchen. Don't let Aurilia know 'bout that, by the way. She'd like ta spit nails."

Percy smiled back and re-rolled the tool pouch and tucked it into his pocket. When he re-entered the living room, he saw that everyone was beginning to clean up the paper. He stepped over to the tree and reached behind it to retrieve the gift he'd worked so hard on. "Um… I didn't know, when I did my Christmas shopping before the hols, that I'd be coming here for the holidays. So… I hope you don't mind, but I used some wood I found out on the sledding hill and the tools in the stable to make a present for the whole house." He handed it to Aurilia.

Aurilia lifted the lid off the box and caught her breath. She lifted it carefully out of the box and everyone got to see it. It was an intricately-carved clock. The face was carved, not with numbers for telling time, but with things like 'shopping,' 'traveling,' 'at home,' 'lost,' 'mortal peril,' and 'at school.' There were five hands, each of which had a round, blank area and a name engraved on the stem – one for each of the present Brewers. Along the upper rim of the clock, there was a carving of the stable, complete with three horses standing outside of it – one was grazing, one rearing on its hind legs, and the last lying on the ground. Closer inspection found that a fourth was curled up next to her, a foal. "To activate it, you'll each need to donate a hair, so the clock will recognize you."

Fred, Ron, and George all exchanged astonished looks. Though they knew that Percy had crafted the clock at the Burrow – for extra credit in his charms class the previous year – they had all heard him swear that he would never make another one because it was 'too much work for something that has little practical purpose, and whose remaining purpose boarders on being slightly illegal in breaching privacy.' Aurilia couldn't speak, so she just reached up and plucked a hair from her scalp with a slight wince. Percy charmed her hand on the clock, her picture appeared in the blank round area, and it spun to 'at home.' The process was repeated for each of the Brewers. When the clock was activated, Aurilia handed it carefully to Jim and headed to the fireplace. A normal clock ticked away, set on a post in the mortar of the stones. She removed the old clock and laid it on the back of the piano. Jim got the hint and hung the new clock in its place. When it was hung, Percy said in a voice barely above a whisper, "If Dave gets married or when you have more children, let me know, and I'll make more hands for it."

The roomful of people was totally silent, and had been since Percy pulled out the box containing his present. The silence was then broken by Remus, "Good show, Percy. Bloody good show."

The remaining days of the holiday passed quickly. When the storm that had threatened all Christmas day broke, Harry taught the boys how to play video games. When it cleared the next morning, they cleared the snow off the pond and went skating, Sirius transfiguring skates for everyone. When the hols finally drew to a close, everyone was a little sad to be leaving. The night before they were due back at Hogwarts, Percy went up to Harry's room after everyone else had gone to bed. There was a light on under the door, so Percy knocked. He heard a quiet "Come in."

"Harry?"

"Hey Perce. Whacha need?" Harry asked, setting aside the book he was reading.

"I was wondering if I could talk with you?"

Harry shrugged, "Sure. Have a seat," he gestured at the chair by his desk. "What's on your mind?"

Percy took a deep breath, "I just wanted to… apologize, I guess. I was wrong about you." Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Percy waived him off. "I don't remember the last time I was that wrong about _anything_. After that first time I met you, back at King's Cross, I thought you were a dim-witted glory-hound who was relying solely on his fame, not only to keep out of trouble, but to even _be_ at Hogwarts. I'm actually glad you talked me into coming, Harry. Though, I will admit that I had originally agreed to come to keep an eye on my brothers." He laughed a little ruefully. "You are right, friends _are_ the family you choose, and I would be honored to count you as a brother."

Harry was more than a little stunned at the admission. "Wow, Perce. I don't know what to say…"

"Then don't say anything. I think I learned something from your family, Harry."

"Oh?"

"Yeah… Things – _people_ – aren't always what they seem. Did you know that Fred and George are adept enough at potion-brewing to tinker with NEWT-level potions?"

Harry shrugged, "No, I didn't, though if I'd thought about it – and knew what potions qualified as NEWT – I might've been able to figure it out."

Percy chuckled a little, "I suppose you might at that," he held out his hand. "Fresh start?"

Harry nodded and shook Percy's hand. "Fresh start."

Just before Percy was about to leave the room, he paused by the door. "Thanks for the pocket watch, by the way. It's nice knowing I won't have to worry about the twins pranking it." Harry had gotten him a small, steel wind-up watch on a length of chain as a gift – though Aurilia was the one to actually pick it out – and he'd had Remus put a charm on it that would make it tamper-proof and self-winding.

"You're welcome, Percy. Goodnight, an' sleep well."

"You, too, Harry."

* * *

**A/N2:** I worked on this chapter alone for just over three months - from September of '06 right up until the middle of December. There were nearly fifteen different permutations of it, but this was the version I was happiest with. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** And Year One is winding down - there are three more chapters - and then I'll start Year Two.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Hagrid**

With the resumption of classes and quidditch – the Gryffindor's next game would be against Hufflepuff – not to mention continuing lessons on guitar for Ron and keyboard for Neville and Hermione, Harry didn't have much spare time. He continued writing home – a letter to A.J. every week, one to Sirius and Remus, and another to his family.

Harry was reminded of his unease around Quirrell during the first Defense lesson. However, he wasn't sure what to do about it. Shortly before the long weekend that heralded Easter, Harry's eyes and met Quirrell's during a lesson. Harry's assumption that the pain in his scar and meeting the Defense professor's eyes the first night at Hogwarts were connected was supported as Harry felt another flash of searing pain in the scar. _Why would Quirrell be causing this?_ he wondered, then went back to taking notes.

One afternoon, a blessedly free afternoon, wherein Harry didn't have class, homework, or quidditch, he headed outside, intent on taking a walk in the early spring sunshine. He found himself not far from the gamekeeper's cottage and was about to turn around and head for the lake when he heard something roar and a lick of flame escaped from a window. Despite his apprehension of the extremely large man who served as groundskeeper for Hogwarts, if the man was in trouble, Harry couldn't let it continue. He crept up to the window and peered into the hut.

"Come on, Norbert, sit!" Hagrid said, sternly. He was holding something in one hand, to Harry it looked rather like a leash. He followed the leather strap and had to gasp in surprise. Tethered to the other end of it was a dragon, roughly the size of a small horse. Harry ducked out of sight and hurried back up to the Tower. He _had_ to tell the guys!

Dean was sketching something near the fire in the common room while Seamus and Neville were finishing up their own homework. Ron was playing a game of chess with one of the older students. Hermione was reading, curled up on the window seat in her customary fashion. "Hey, y'all. Come on! I just saw something…" When Harry didn't get quite the reaction he wanted, he whistled shrilly. Every head in the common room swung to meet him. "Hermione, Seamus, Ron, Neville, and Dean! Come with me!"

He headed up to his room without waiting for them. Hermione followed him immediately, but the boys looked to each other. Neville shrugged, "Should we go up?"

Dean laid his pencil down and flexed his hands. "Think so. I haven't seen him that worked up since Halloween." It took a fair few minutes to pry Ron from the chessboard, though.

When the four boys reached their room, they could hear Hermione through the door, "…Harry! What's going on?"

"Not 'til the others get here, Hermione."

Ron opened the door. "We're here," he said before flopping down on his bed. "Now, tell me just why I had to concede a game I was _winning_?"

"I saw a dragon!" Harry said, excitedly.

Seamus groaned, "Is that all?"

"Yeah, mate, I thought maybe another troll had gotten into the school, or something!" Dean followed Ron's example and flopped down on his bed.

Harry sighed, "Oh… I just thought it was odd… I mean, that Hagrid fella had it on a leash an' was tryin' ta get it to sit like a dog…"

"What?!" Five simultaneous shouts sounded from identically shocked faces.

"That's illegal!" Hermione continued, through her surprise. "You can't own a dragon in Britain!"

Neville nodded, "That's right. Dragon breeding was made illegal during the Warlocks' Convention of 1709. I thought everybody knew that."

Harry blinked, "I didn't. Hafta wonder if anyone told Hagrid? Looked like he was tryin' ta tame the one in his hut."

Ron squeaked. Actually _squeaked_. Harry had to bite his lip before he burst out laughing at him. Ron tried again. "You _can't_ keep a dragon in a house! They're too big."

Harry shook his head, "Not the one Hagrid has. It's only about the same size as a horse. Maybe a large pony."

"It must not be very old, then." Ron said. "If it's still that small, it can't be more than a couple of days old at the most, which means Hagrid had to have hatched it… Wonder where he got the egg, though?"

"Who cares where he got it?" Hermione said. "He has it now, and he _really _shouldn't!"

Ron nodded, "Yeah, you can't tame dragons anyway. What's Hagrid thinking?"

Seamus spoke up, "You know, I think he might not know about it being dangerous. My mom's uncle came to Hogwarts – was in the same year as Hagrid, actually – and he told me that Hagrid was always getting into trouble for bringing dangerous creatures into the castle. That some girl accidentally got killed by one of his 'pets,' and that got Hagrid expelled when they were third-years."

Harry smiled at all his friends, "What do you say we go talk with him?" he asked. He felt less apprehensive about going to see the man if he had his friends by his side.

Leading the way back down to the gamekeeper's cottage, Harry paused at the door and made sure everyone was still with him. They were. _Good,_ Harry thought while reaching up to knock on the large door. _Dunno what I woulda done iffen they hadn't come, too_.

"Jus' a mo'!" the large man boomed in response to the knock at his door.

A couple of minutes later, Hagrid opened the door to his cottage, "Well, 'ello there. Wha' can I do fer ya?"

Hermione spoke up, "We know about the dragon, Mr. Hagrid, sir."

Though it was obvious Hagrid wasn't used to being addressed as 'sir,' much less 'Mr. Hagrid,' he frowned. "Dunno wha' yer talkin' 'bout."

Harry laughed, "Oh, come on! I _saw_ it! Heard it roar an' thought someone might be in trouble, so I came down to see what was goin' on, an' saw you through the window."

Hagrid's face fell. "Oh… Better come in, then." He motioned for the six students to enter his house. The dragon was curled up in front of the fireplace, gnawing on a rather large bone.

Ron gasped when he saw it, "That's a Norwegian Ridgeback!"

Dean and Seamus exchanged a glance, but Neville spoke next, "Hagrid? You do realize you live in a wooden house, right?"

Hagrid nodded, "Anyone wan' tea or summat to eat?"

There were a round of negative answers. "I thought dragon breedin' was illegal?" Harry asked.

Hagrid fidgeted and Harry realized that for all the man's size, he was acting more like a first year himself than a fully adult wizard. "Ya won' tell no one?" he sounded really unsure of himself.

Hermione looked like she was about to get into a lecture on the legality of what Hagrid had done when Harry caught her eyes, "No, sir, but… doncha think he'd be better off with his own kind? Plus, he's gonna be gettin' a lot bigger, ain't he? You won't be able ta keep him here… It wouldn't be fair to him. An' what about when he needs to learn how to use those wings of his?" Hagrid sank slowly onto a chair, looking thoughtful. Harry noted that the expression looked rather out-of-place on him.

Ron seemed to know what Harry was implying and chimed in with, "Do you remember Charlie Weasley?"

Hagrid looked up and nodded, "Yeah. Good bloke, animals seemed ter like 'im. You'd be his brother, then?" Hagrid looked around the room and smiled through his bushy beard. "An' you'd be Longbottom, that righ'?" Neville nodded. Hagrid took a closer look at Harry. "An' you're Harry Potter."

Harry chuckled, "_Brewer_, like I said at the start of term, sir. Was adopted."

Hagrid shrugged, "Even so… Look a lot like yer dad did, Harry, but you've got yer mum's eyes."

Harry nodded, "I know." He realized in that moment that all his fears about the large man had been utterly unfounded. He motioned for Seamus, Hermione, and Dean to step a little closer. "These are my friends. Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Ron Weasley."

"Good ter meetcha," Hagrid said.

Ron stepped a little closer, "Hagrid, you know if you keep the dragon here, you'll get in trouble with the ministry."

"But Norbert's jus' a baby…"

"All the more reason to make sure he received proper instruction on _being_ a dragon from another of his kind," Hermione said.

Hagrid was starting to look decidedly teary-eyed. Seamus spoke up, "You know Alvin Darcy?"

Hagrid nodded, "Yeah. 'E was in me year in school. Helped me out a time or two…"

"He's my mom's uncle," Seamus explained the seeming non-sequitor. "When I got my Hogwarts letter, he came by to congratulate me, and told me a bunch of stories about when he was in school. He told me about a couple of the pets you had during your time as a student."

Hagrid frowned again, "I'll have you know I didn' do wha' they said. Dunno what caused that poor girl's death, but it weren't Aragog – he never hurt nobody."

Seamus held his hands up, "I believe you, Hagrid, but… If this gets out… it could be _really_ bad."

"Do you have a piece of parchment, Hagrid?" Dean asked, out of the blue. Hagrid nodded and retrieved a sheet from a massive desk that was near an equally massive bed.

Dean accepted the parchment and flicked his wand in a practiced motion, muttering something under his breath. It took a second for Harry to realize that he was now using his wand to sketch the dragon, using another hardwood chair as a desk.

While Dean was drawing, Harry turned his attention back to the conversation. Ron was talking again, "Charlie now works for the Dragon Preservation Association, on a preserve in Romania. I'm sure he'd be delighted to find a good home for Norbert…"

All-told, it took the six of them nearly three hours to convince Hagrid that keeping a dragon on the school grounds was a bad idea. Neville was actually the one to convince him by saying that if the dragon ever got hungry and Hagrid had gone for whatever reason, Norbert would be just as likely to eat a student as one of the creatures in the forest. Ron used the floo in Hagrid's hut to call his brother. They arranged for some of Charlie's colleagues to come and collect Norbert that night. The dragoneers would floo into Hagrid's at about midnight, and then fly the dragon back to Romania.

By the time they'd finished settling the plans with Charlie, it was dinnertime. While the rest were saying their good-byes to the gamekeeper, Harry saw Dean pocket a scale that was lying on the floor – one which had obviously come from the dragon sleeping not twenty feet away. Hagrid told them all to come back and visit at any time. Harry smiled at the man and promised to do just that. On the way to the Great Hall for dinner, Harry had to laugh at himself. One of the things that his mom had always told him was not to judge on appearances alone, and he had done just that. _Just goes to show I ought to listen to Mom more often_.

When dinner was over, Dean disappeared into their room, saying he had something to work on and didn't want to be disturbed. The others, Hermione included, for a change, settled in the common room to play Exploding Snap for a few hours.

That night, the dragon handlers arrived and carried Norbert away. The next morning everyone trekked back down to the gamekeeper's cottage. Dean was carrying something large and rectangular, wrapped in brown paper. All the kids, though, were pretty sure they knew what it was. Hagrid met them at the door, red-eyed and sniffing. He wouldn't take 'no' for an answer and set about making tea for all of them. He actually broke down crying when he unwrapped the portrait of Norbert that Dean had painted, and engulfed the black boy in a shaggy, tear-filled hug.

* * *

**A/N2:** I've received several ideas on band-names, but I'd still like a few more options, if you don't mind. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** And the next installment!

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Behind a Locked Door**

As the end-of-year exams approached, Hermione managed to nag the boys into studying more. Her comment about how embarrassing it would be to fail and be held back to repeat the year had her sharing a small glance of amusement with Harry. It seemed to do the trick for the other boys, though, and they began spending inordinate numbers of hours in the library. When not in the library, it wasn't all that uncommon for one, two, three, or even all of them to be found down at Hagrid's, trading amusing anecdotes of their days for stories of when Harry's, Neville's, Ron's, and Seamus' parent(s) were at school – and, in the case of Ron, tales of his older brothers' days at the school. Harry also had to contend with quidditch practice; whatever the twins had done to Oliver had worked. Instead of early-morning practice, they now practiced in the evenings, just after dinner, on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Even on practice days, though, when Harry should have been tired enough to sleep like a log, he found his dreams plagued by disturbing images. In many of them, Professor Quirrell's turban seemed to be talking to him, trying to convince him that the professor was someone to be trusted implicitly. When not dreaming of the talking turban, Harry often found himself dreaming of hunting unicorns, and drinking their blood. After the fifth night in a row of similar dreams, he decided to look into the matter and began reading as much as he had time for – which, admittedly, wasn't much. His scar was also hurting almost constantly.

Their exams came, and, despite Hermione's fretting, they all felt they did rather well. Their last exam was in History of Magic, and when it was over, they all also felt relieved. Harry, however couldn't help but feel that their _real_ tests hadn't come yet. "I'm goin' to go lay down for a while," he said, yawning. "I didn't sleep real well last night."

Hermione smiled at him, "Neither did I… Too keyed up, I suppose."

Harry left his friends outside and went up to the Tower. He had mentioned taking a nap only to make sure they wouldn't come looking for him. For all that he really liked his friends, he didn't want them to think he was nuts. He'd checked all the unicorn references in the library – those, at least, that he had access to – and was intent on checking the ones in his trunk next. He must have been more tired than he realized, though, as he fell asleep while scanning through a thick tome on magical creatures.

This dream was, by far, the worst one yet. It was completely dark, and smelled oddly, not quite like garlic, but not far from it. There were sounds that he couldn't quite place at first, then realized they were footsteps. _Hurry, hurry_, a voice said, though not out loud. The sound of the footsteps increased. There was the noise of a latch and the squeal of a door opening. Loud growling and someone muttering, "Blasted dog," followed by an incantation. Harp music started playing. There was a momentary sensation of weightlessness followed by a muted thud. "_Lumos solem_," said the second voice and Harry's vision was momentarily filled with brilliant purple. Then it faded. Harry knew that time had passed, but he wasn't sure how much, an unfortunate side-effect of dreaming. He just _knew_ that time had passed. The first voice, the one that didn't talk out loud, was saying, _…let me see…_

The darkness of the dream lightened slowly to muted purple and then fell away completely. _Ahh… The old fool has placed it within the mirror. Full marks for cunning, old man._

Another sense of passing time, again Harry didn't know how much time, only that it was now much later than it had been. Now the dream was progressing in a series of images. A bright red stone, roughly the size of Harry's fist was replaced by a goblet of translucent, glowing, amber liquid. A man in a dark robe laughed evilly. A green skull-and-snake hovered in the sky while smoke boiled up from countless houses and businesses. The laughter continued, while scene after scene of death and carnage and destruction flipped past almost faster than Harry could identify the images. The last one was an image of his home in flames, his mom lying still on blood-stained grass, a rifle not far from her hand.

Harry jerked awake slightly nauseous and sweaty. Even though he'd been laying on top of the covers on the bed, they still managed to twist around him. He fought his way out of the blankets and checked his watch. He'd only been in the room for about an hour and a half. It took several minutes for his heart to stop pounding. He grabbed his bear, Mr. Blue, and hugged him tightly, remembering just a little _too _much of his dream to be comforted by the stuffed animal.

"This is nuts," Harry whispered. "Completely _nuts_." He sat the bear to the side and climbed back up to the dorm room. He found that all his friends were waiting in the room. Neville was sitting in front of the trunk, his wand in his lap. Hermione, Ron, and Dean were sitting on Harry's bed, Seamus was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, and Fred, George, and Percy were sitting on Ron's bed. They were all looking at Harry expectantly.

Harry finished climbing into the room, shut the trunk, and sat down on it. "What's going on?" Percy asked.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "That's just it, I _don't know_!"

"Maybe if you told us…" George said, serious for once.

"…we could help you figure it out," Fred finished, looking just as serious as his twin.

Harry took a deep breath. "I s'pose it all started the night of the welcomin' feast…" he began, then told his friends about Quirrell's odd behavior, the pain in his scar, the dreams about the unicorns, the dreams about the voice in the turban, and the dream he just had. "I _know_ it's all linked up with what the headmaster said about the third floor bein' off-limits, but I don't know _how_."

Percy stood up and began pacing while Hermione, who was taking notes, read over them. Dean was staring at the canopy of Harry's bed, Ron was chewing on his lip, and Neville was staring at his hands. Seamus and the twins were watching Percy pace back and forth. "Hold up a tick," Dean said. "In the dream you said that you saw a bright red stone, right?" Harry nodded. "And a goblet of glowing potion, right?"

Harry nodded again. "So?"

Dean sat up, "Well, I did an extra-credit essay for Binns back right before Halloween, because I got that horrible grade on that first test, right? Anyway, it was a biography on Nicolas Flamel. He did a whole lot of stuff, but he made this thing called the 'Philosopher's Stone,' also known as the 'Sorcerer's Stone.'"

"So…?" Harry repeated.

"The Stone is supposed to be able to turn any metal into gold, and makes a potion known as the Elixir of Life, which gives the person who drinks it immortality."

"And?"

"Dumbledore was Flamel's apprentice a long time ago," Dean continued. "I'd bet anything that the Stone is why the third-floor corridor is out-of-bounds."

Fred and George snickered, "Why not just keep it at Gringotts?"

Percy stopped his pacing. "There was a break-in at Gringotts last summer. The goblins didn't do much more than clarify that someone tried to get into one of the high-security vaults, and they did say that nothing was taken, but that was because the vault had been emptied earlier that same day."

"There you go," Dean stuck his tongue out at the twins.

"What about the unicorns?" Ron asked.

Neville looked up, "Unicorn blood can keep you from dying no matter how badly hurt you are. It's considered to be some of the darkest magic, though, and anyone caught killing a unicorn is automatically sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss – or so Great Uncle Algie once told me."

Hermione spoke next, "I'm a bit more concerned about the fact that Harry's scar has been hurting. I researched it and found that most curse-scars are like normal scars, only they don't react well to corrective measures to remove them."

Seamus grimaced, "But if it's been hurting…"

"That can't be good," Hermione confirmed. "There's also the slight issue that there has never before been a scar quite like Harry's – no one else has survived a killing curse."

"That's right!" Ron shouted.

"Ron, _volume_." Hermione chided.

"Now, oh brother-of-ours…"

"…please explain what that was all about?"

Ron looked sheepish, "Well… You-Know-Who is the one who gave Harry his scar, right?"

There were a round of nods and 'yeah, so?'s. "So… If it's hurting, wouldn't that mean that You-Know-Who was doing something to make it hurt?"

"But, Ronniekins…"

"…You-Know-Who was defeated more than ten years ago."

Harry cleared his throat, "Um… I don't think so, guys."

"What makes you say that?" Percy asked.

"Well… I know that Professor Snape doesn't think Voldemort," everyone but Hermione flinched at Harry's casual use of the Dark Lord's name. Harry ignored it and continued, "fell at all. Yeah, he disappeared, but there wasn't a _body_. If he'd been killed, then wouldn't there have been a body?"

Percy nodded. "I guess you're right. And that would explain the reports I've gotten about why he's acting like he hates you whenever you're in class."

"Just how does that fit in?" Hermione asked.

"Well, Professor Snape was working for Dumbledore as a spy during You-Know-Who's reign of darkness. If he and Dumbledore don't think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is gone for good, then they'd want to preserve his cover, don't you think? It wouldn't do for a Death Eater to be seen as being nice to the Boy-Who-Lived, especially with the children of other Death Eaters in the same class, right?"

Harry looked thoughtful, "If we assume that it _is_ Voldemort who's makin' my scar hurt, and that Quirrell is somehow workin' for or with him, and we further assume that Dumbledore is hiding the Stone for Flamel, then it's safe to assume that Quirrell is working here ta get the Stone for Voldemort. Dumbledore prob'ly doesn't know about Quirrell – if he did, then why is he workin' here? Now, iffen I was Dumbledore, I'd make sure the Stone was protected by a whole mess of protections… But those protections would have to be put in place by people, an' people make mistakes; it's a fact of life." Harry's eyes refocused to look around the room. "So… all we need to do is make sure there's something protecting the stone that _isn't_ manmade."

"What do you have in mind?" Dean asked.

"Lemme see… I'll need a blue candle, a white candle, and a black one. Some salt. And a sage-smudge." Harry ignored Dean's question. "Angelica would be good, too… I need to talk to Mom." He sprung to his feet and headed to the door.

"Hang on!" Dean yelled after Harry. "Just _what_ are you planning?"

"To get Gaia in on protecting the Stone, of course!" Harry grinned. "Y'all just wait here. I'll be back shortly." Harry ducked out of the room and everyone who remained exchanged confused glances.

"Who's Gaia?" Hermione asked.

Harry ran all the way to Dumbledore's office, only to find it locked. Harry groaned, "Of all the damn times not to be here…" He raced back towards Gryffindor Tower, intent on finding McGonagall. He was disappointed to learn that Dumbledore was not in the school. He was also told by the deputy headmistress that he could wait until Albus' return before flooing his family.

Harry hurried back to the Tower and his waiting friends. "So…" Fred said.

"…Are you going to tell us what's on your mind?"

Harry growled and flopped onto one of the empty beds. "Damnit!" he growled, followed by a string of German interspersed with Spanish.

"I take it your call didn't go well?" Seamus said.

Harry shook his head, "Didn't go at all, actually. Dumbledore isn't in the school – McGonagall said he's been called to London."

"So… What _were_ you planning, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry sighed, "I was gonna see about setting a circle around where the Stone's kept."

"Pardon?" Percy said.

"It's something Mom taught me. It draws the attention of a deity to an area and said deity then protects whatever's in the circle."

The twins let out identical whistles, "That's really _old_ magic."

"You say your _mom_ taught you?" asked Neville.

"Thought she was muggle?" Ron said, leaning forward.

Harry smiled a little, "'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked.

"It means, Ronald," Hermione said, sternly, "that, yes, Harry's mom is a muggle, but some things, some _magics_ don't seem to be limited to wizards-only. Right, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. But back to the problem at hand… What are we going to do about the Stone? I know if we don't do anything, then what I saw in my dream will happen…"

"Do you have prophetic dreams often?" Percy asked, a little skeptically.

Harry shook his head, "No, not often. Only once in a blue moon, and all the others were about stupid stuff, like what someone was going to wear to school, or that so-an'-so was gonna get hurt at recess. But this dream _felt_ like those, particularly at the end, when I was seein' all those images of people dyin' and whatnot…"

"You said that Dumbledore isn't here, right?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded, "Yeah, he's in London. Why?"

"Because if I was Quirrell and bent on getting the Stone for Voldemort, then I'd want to do so if Dumbledore wasn't here."

A round of cursing – not the magic kind – was heard from all present. "So, he's likely to try tonight."

Hermione shrugged, "Or even this afternoon. Exams are over. He won't be missed."

Harry jumped to his feet, "All right, then, this is what we'll do. Percy, you go find McGonagall and tell her what we've figured out, all right? Then send an owl to the headmaster, letting him know, too." Percy nodded. "Fred, George. I need you two to find Quirrell and make sure he's kept busy. Dean, Seamus, Neville, Ron, and Hermione – you come with me." Something tingled at the back of Harry's mind. "Wait here a second, though." He slid back down the ladder in his trunk and grabbed his .22. He quickly made sure it was loaded before wrapping it up in his invisibility cloak and strapping it to his back with the laces from his snow-boots. Re-emerging in the dorm, he looked around. "Okay, I think we can go now."

Percy left first, followed by Fred and George. Harry led the first-years out of the dorm and through the least-traveled passageways to the forbidden third-floor corridor. Harry was mildly surprised they didn't come across Peeves or Filch. They reached the door signaling the start of the out-of-bounds area, only to find it locked. After some whispered squabbling, Hermione shoved her way to the front of the group and brandished her wand at the lock, "_Alohomora._" The latch clicked open.

All six froze when they saw a _very_ large three-headed dog, snoring. "Merlin," Ron whispered. "It's a cerberus!"

"We've got bigger problems," Neville hissed. "It's waking up!"

Hermione's thoughts were running in overtime. "Eurydice died, Orpheus traveled to Hades to bring her back… Harry! How did Orpheus get past Cerberus?"

Harry shrugged, but Dean grinned, "Orpheus was a musician! He played the harp! Guys, on three, _Blue Moon_! One… Two… Three…"

A rather panicked version of Bobbie Vinton's _Blue Moon_ – the rendition of it the Gryffindors were singing would qualify as a musical felony in most circles – followed. It did manage to put the cerberus back to sleep, though. With the immediate threat gone, Harry stopped butchering the song. "Now what?"

Neville shrugged, still singing along with Dean and Seamus. Ron pointed to the floor, "There's a trapdoor."

"Help me open it."

They pried the door open to reveal a dark tunnel through the school. "Now what?" Ron repeated Harry's earlier question. Harry shook his head and jumped through the trapdoor.

After a few moments, his voice drifted up out of the hole in the floor, "It's all right, guys. There's this plant thing here to break your fall. Come on down!"

One by one, the Gryffindors jumped through the door. Dean was last, and he made sure to grab the large, metal ring before he jumped in, so the door would close behind them. He landed almost directly on top of Hermione. "Sorry, mate," he said.

"Don't worry about it," she replied.

"_Lumos_." Everyone winced a little at the sudden light from Neville's wand. "Um… guys?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever you do, don't panic."

Of course, with human psychology being what it is, and eleven-and-twelve-year-olds being what they are, the first thing they did upon hearing those words _was _panic. "Why?" Ron's voice was notably edgy.

"This is Devils' Snare," Neville explained. "Carnivorous."

There was a muffled shriek from Seamus as tendrils of the plant started wrapping around his legs. "How do we get past it?" he asked, kicking at the plant.

"Let me think…" Neville replied.

"Think faster!" Dean cried, the plant was almost completely wrapped around his body, and his arms were pinned to his sides.

"That's it!" Neville shouted, triumphant. "Watch your eyes. _Lumos solem!_" Bright artificial sunlight poured from his wand. The plant hissed and whistled and shrieked, withering in the bright light. The six Gryffindors suddenly found themselves falling another ten feet or so to a stone floor.

Seamus got up, brushing off his robes, "If we get through all this just to find Dumbledore's chocolate stash or his collection of vintage knick-knacks, I'm going to bloody well kill him!"

"What's that?" Dean asked, his head cocked to the side. Harry thought he looked quite a bit like the dogs on the RCA commercials he had seen on television the previous school year.

"What's what?" Hermione asked.

"Listen," he replied.

Everyone was silent for a while. "It sounds like birds… wings," Ron said.

They followed the noise to a room with very high ceilings. Harry squinted up to the rafters, "Yeah… birds."

"Whatever," Seamus said, striding towards the door on the opposite wall. The door proved to be locked. "Hermione? Unlock this one, would you?"

Hermione hurried over to the door and tried _Alohomora_. It didn't work. "Know any other unlocking charms?" Hermione shook her head. Seamus looked up to the distant fluttering birds. "One of those birds probably has it on a collar or something."

Dean was looking up, too. "I don't think those are birds, mate."

"Then what are they?" Harry asked.

"They look like keys."

"Great," Harry muttered. "Just _wonderful_. How do we know which one opens the door? And even if we knew, how do we get to it?"

Ron nudged Harry's shoulder. "As to getting it, I'd say use the broomstick in the corner."

"And the key is probably old and silver, like the lock," Seamus pointed out.

"Come on, Harry," Neville tugged the other boy towards the broom. "You're not the youngest seeker in a century without reason. Go get the key."

Harry chuckled, "Alrighty, back in a tic." He climbed onto the broom and shot up to where the keys were flying back and forth. It took several minutes to locate what he thought was the right key, but once he saw it, it was only a matter of heartbeats before he landed with it in his hand. "Here," he handed it to Neville, who took it over to the door. It opened easily, the key taking off to rejoin its fellows.

The six first-years carefully entered the dark chamber. Suddenly, lights sprung up revealing a massive chessboard. "Well, this one's fairly obvious," Ron said.

"How so?" Hermione asked.

"Well… we'll have to play our way across, won't we?" Ron smiled a little. "Seamus, Dean, I want both of you to take the place of the castles. Harry, Hermione… You two take the places of the king and queen. Neville, you take the king's side bishop. I'll play the queen's side knight."

"I don't know about this," Seamus grumbled as he watched the aforementioned pieces stride off the board.

"Oh, come on! It can't be that hard – it's just _chess_!" Ron laughed and took his place on the board. "Do you want to stop Quirrell or not?"

That got everyone into their places. "Now what?" Seamus asked the question of the day.

"White moves first," Ron said, and sure enough, a white pawn moved forward two spaces. Ron took to directing the black pieces with a will. The added challenge of keeping his friends safe from harm seemed to only spur him to higher and higher levels of play.

Harry checked his watch. It was almost dinnertime in the Great Hall. He hoped that when they finally finished what they had to do, there would be an easier way out than going back through all the traps. "Hermione, go straight forward and take their bishop," Ron said, bringing Harry's attention back to the game.

Eventually, after what had to have been the single most boring two hours Harry ever experienced – he had just stood there, after all – Ron laughed and moved into position, calling, "Checkmate!" as he did so.

The white king took off its crown and threw it to Ron's feet. The six hurried across the room to the door on the far side. "Gross," Dean said. "It smells like…"

Harry nodded, "The troll from Halloween."

"There's probably another one on the other side of the door," Seamus said, getting out his wand. The others followed suit.

"Open the door, and stunning spells on three?" Hermione asked. "If we hit it in the eye, its skin won't cause the spells to bounce off – I spent some time researching them in the library after last Halloween…"

"No time for lectures, Hermione," Ron said. "Sounds like a plan." He reached forward and opened the door.

A troll half again as large as the one on Halloween looked up in surprise. "One… two… three! _Stupefy!_" Six jets of crimson light hit it directly in its eyes before it could so much as blink. It slumped down and began snoring.

"Come on," Seamus said, hurrying to yet another door.

The next room was the smallest so far, and on a table were seven bottles standing in a line. As the door closed behind the six of them, purple flames shot up, barring the door. Black fire blocked the door across the room.

"Great… Just bloody great," Seamus said. "I repeat, if this is just protecting something silly, I'm going to _kill_ Dumbledore."

Harry walked over to the row of bottles and picked up a scroll. He read it aloud.

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,  
Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,  
One among us seven will let you move ahead,  
Another will transport the drinker back instead,  
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,  
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.  
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,  
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:  
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide  
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;  
Second, different are those who stand at either end,  
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;  
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,  
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;  
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

"Hell, it's a logic-puzzle," he muttered. "I've never been all that great at those…"

"Somehow, I doubt that," Hermione said, smiling. "Let me see that paper."

Harry handed it to her. After a couple of minutes, Hermione clapped, "I've got it! The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire, and the round one on the right end will get us through the purple fire."

Harry picked up the smallest bottle, "There's not much in here. Mayhap only enough for two or three of us."

"Just put it down, I don't think we need it." Seamus said.

"What?" Hermione asked, confused. "Why not?"

"Weren't the twins complaining the other day about that essay for Binns about Wendolyn the Weird or whatever his name was?" Seamus asked.

"Yeah, so?" Ron replied.

"So, I asked them about it. Wendolyn liked using flame-freezing charms in the Dark Ages whenever muggles tried to burn him at the stake. The twins taught me the charm." Seamus pulled out his wand once more and aimed it at each of them in turn, incanting the charm as he did so, applying the charm on himself last. "See?" he held his arms in the black fire. He squirmed a little, "Merlin, that tickles."

Harry sat the bottle of potion back on the table and followed Seamus through the door and into a large, round chamber. The only thing in it was a huge mirror with the legend 'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi,' across the top. Harry felt his arms break out in gooseflesh. It was the same mirror from his dream.

"Now what?" Hermione asked.

"Now… we wait," Harry replied. "If we're still here come morning, we'll leave and track down Dumbledore, tell him in person what's goin' on."

They didn't have long to wait before the door opened once more to admit Percy and the twins. "How the _hell_ did you three find us?" Harry asked.

The twins grinned, "Remember that map we talked about during Christmas hols?"

Harry nodded, "What about it?"

"It showed us a shortcut down here," the twins grinned. Percy looked rather like he wanted to lecture them, but knew that now wasn't the time. He appeared to be repeating something to himself over and over, but Harry couldn't tell what.

Everyone took positions around the perimeter of the room, standing in the scant cover provided by a series of pillars. They didn't have long to wait before the door opened a third and final time. "That was much easier than I'd thought it would be," Quirrell muttered.

A hissing voice, one that Harry knew and had only heard in his dreams before answered. "They are weak, as I have told you before. They are weak, therefore their protections are weak. _Now get me the Stone!_"

Quirrell flinched and strode towards the mirror, "How do I retrieve it, Lord?"

"Fool!" the voice hissed. "Let me see."

Quirrell reached up and began unwinding his turban. When the last of the purple cloth fell away, Harry could see the majority of his friends mouth, "Gross!" There was another face on the back of Quirrell's head. A strange, malformed face, with only slits for nostrils, thin lips, and tiny, glowing red embers where its eyes should be. "Ahh… The old fool has placed it within the mirror. Full marks for cunning, old man."

Harry's arms prickled in gooseflesh once more. That had been directly out of his dream.

"Do I break the mirror, Master?" Quirrell asked.

"No," Voldemort replied. "That will destroy the stone, I want you to –"

Harry wasn't interested in what Voldemort wanted Quirrell to do and shouted, "NOW!" followed by a stunning spell aimed at the two-faced man in front of the mirror. Quirrell dove to the side, and the mirror reflected the stunner into the stonework around the door. Fred and George were casting a variety of hexes, all with the intention of stopping Quirrell from being able to retaliate. Percy was running towards the door to get a better line-of-sight to send his own stunners. Hermione seemed to prefer 'petrificus totalus,' as did Dean. Seamus and Neville were also sending stunners. Ron was trying 'expelliarmus.'

Quirrell, though, was more agile than he appeared and managed to dodge, duck, or block all their attempts. He caught Percy with a stunner of his own, and reflected one of Hermione's spells back on her. A wide-sweeping expelliarmus deprived Neville, Harry, and Ron of their wands. Another stunner got Fred, and George lost his concentration when his twin fell. In the cacophony of curses and hexes, Harry saw Dean catch a nasty cutting curse to his shoulder, and actually heard bones break when Ron got caught by a blasting curse. Though vastly outnumbered, it was obvious that Harry's group was losing to the greater experience and power of the possessed Defense professor.

"Enough of this!" Harry shouted, voicing his thoughts out loud. "If that bastard wants a Philosopher's Stone, he'll have to make his own!" He quickly unbundled his invisibility cloak and shouldered his rifle. He thumbed the safety off, chambered a round from the magazine with a simple flick of the bolt, and aimed for the center of the mirror. He fired, the flat crack of the gun startling everyone, Quirrell included.

It was as though time itself had slowed to a mere fraction of its normal speed. Harry could see the startled expression on Quirrell's face fall, replaced by fury. The mirror shattered with a deafening sound of breaking glass, and blindingly bright red light flared and died. Chips and shards of glass littered the room, landing with tiny pinging noises on the stone floor. "NOOOO!"

Time stepped back up. Harry heard George trying to rouse Fred, while Dean tried to stop the bleeding from the gash in his shoulder. Voldemort hissed to Quirrell to turn so that he could see what happened.

"Harry Potter," he whispered. "We meet again."

Harry scowled. "My name's _Brewer_, you moron! Or can't you listen when you're all wrapped up in that damn turban?"

Voldemort smiled. Actually _smiled._ Harry felt that it was the single most obscene expression he had ever seen. "Child… Don't you see what I have become? Mere shadow and vapor… We could be great together. Unstoppable. You have already proven your worth is so much more than Quirrell's. Thwarted by a group of school children…" He tutted and Quirrell screamed. "_Not _the best way to prove your worth, is it, Quirinus? But _you_, my dear boy… You are already so much more than poor Quirinus could ever aspire to be. Come here, child. Join me… We will be great."

Harry snorted, "I don't think so, compadre. _You_ killed my parents. Just why in _hell_ would I join you?"

The twisted, macabre smile widened. "Yes… yes, I did. Perhaps I was too hasty in attempting to be rid of you that night, as well. I see now, I would have done better to raise you myself."

"Why? So I could be an ugly, evil little scab on the face of humanity, too?"

Voldemort's laughter was worse than his smile. "No, no, young Harry. Can't you see there is no good and evil? There is only power and those too weak to take it."

"You really _are_ an idiot, aren't you?" Harry asked. It may have not been the most intelligent thing he ever said, but he couldn't help himself. He pointed to Voldemort, "You are evil." He pointed to himself, "I am good." He pointed back to Voldemort, "You, evil," and back to himself, "Me, good."

Voldemort's smile faded, "Quirrell, SEIZE HIM!"

Harry shouldered his rifle again. "You, evil. Me, good," he repeated as Quirrell strode across the stone floor. The possessed professor was only a couple of yards away when he chambered another round from the magazine, the spent shell clattering to the floor with a metallic tinkle. "You, evil. Me, good." There was another flat crack of the gun. A hole appeared in Quirrell's chest, a little above where Harry had aimed. The bullet had caught him, not in the heart, but just between the collarbone and his rib cage. It also didn't seem to slow the man down any.

Harry dropped the rifle, fumbling for his wand before he remembered that it was on the other side of the room. Quirrell reached out and grabbed Harry's wrists, forcing the boy to the floor. Harry was pretty sure he felt something snap in his right hand, but couldn't be sure as the pain searing in his scar felt as though it were trying to cleave his head in twain. He began struggling with all his might, ignoring the pain as best he could. To his surprise, Quirrell let go. The pain from his scar receded and he saw that Quirrell's hands were blistering, as though he'd held them in a fire.

"Seize him!" Voldemort repeated the command.

"I cannot!" Quirrell objected. "My hands, they're –"

"I don't care, SEIZE HIM!" Voldemort roared.

Quirrell winced and dove forward, knocking Harry the rest of the way to the stone floor. As the professor's hands closed around his throat, Harry could see the man howling in pain, even as his own scar lit up again. He reached to his belt… _Where is it… Where is it… Ah!_ His brain was flagging from the lack of oxygen, and stars were dancing in front of his eyes. He unsnapped the leather pouch that his pocketknife was stored in. Fumbling, he opened it, then, just before his vision blacked out entirely, he rammed the blade up, as hard as he could.

Quirrell let go of him again and pulled the knife from his stomach. "Foolish boy," Voldemort said. "We could have been great, Potter, yet you refuse…"

Harry growled, the sound making his throat ache even more than it had been. "My name is _Brewer_!" He leapt forward and threw a right cross that had all his strength behind it. The punch landed on Quirrell's jaw, and Harry felt something else break in his fist. The professor's head whipped around, a small stream of blood coming from his lip. Harry wasn't done, though, and grabbed the professor's head, digging the fingers of his left hand into the eyes of Voldemort on the back of Quirrell's head and began punching the face he could see.

After only a few moments, he saw smoke curling up from where his left hand was grasping the man's skull. A strange sound was coming from the combined voices of Quirrell and Voldemort – they were both screaming, the combined tones of which created an eerie reverberation in the stone chamber.

Harry watched in fascination – the same fascination that makes people look at car accidents and train wrecks – as the professor's head slowly turned to ash, followed quickly by the rest of him. With the last bit of what used to be Quirrell fading into ash, a black ghost-like presence rose from the carnage. _Another time, Potter…_ Harry heard the voice in his head before he blacked out.

* * *

**A/N2:** So… How'd I do on this? I'm a little insecure about parts of it – all except Seamus' quips, actually. I fell I could do so much better… sigh. Still looking at possible band names, so suggestions are helpful.

**Beta's Note:** Stop being so hard on yourself – it's fine as it stands. I need the next few chapters of year two, though. And… how far into year four _have_ you written? You never did answer that last email. Should I rally the reviewers to kick your muse into high-gear?


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Urk, so I fibbed a little in the A/N for chapter fourteen – there were only two more chapters. I feel like an idiot – I'd only looked at my 'to post' file, not realizing that I hadn't moved chapter fourteen to the 'posted' file yet. _face/palm_

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Wrapping Up**

Harry groaned and opened his eyes. Everything was blurry. "Awake, Mr. Brewer?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah. Glasses?" A brightly colored blur handed Harry his spectacles. He slipped them on with his left hand, seeing that his right was immobilized in some sort of sling. He could now see Professor Dumbledore sitting near his bed. "The hospital wing? So, I ain't dead then. That's good."

"Indeed it is, Mr. Brewer."

Harry paled suddenly, "On second thought, is it too late to lose to Quirrell?"

"Yes, Mr. Brewer, it is too late to do so. May I ask why?"

Harry grimaced, "Because _Mom's_ gonna kill me when she finds out."

Albus chuckled, "I don't think it will be quite that bad, Harry. I've already spoken with her, and she has promised not to kill you, nor maim you, though I wouldn't rule out a solid grounding when you get home."

Harry groaned and fell back against his pillows. "I take it y'all already know what happened?"

"Quite. I had only just arrived in London when it became apparent that the place I had left was where I truly needed to be. I must apologize for what happened, Harry. It was not my intention for either you or your friends to get hurt."

"What about my friends? Are they all right?"

Albus nodded, "Indeed they are, Mr. Brewer. Dean will have a scar from the encounter, and Ronald will need to be careful with his newly regrown bones for some time yet, but no one else suffered any lasting effects."

"How long have I been out of it?" Harry asked, reaching for one of the dozens of packages of sweets surrounding his bed. He smiled when he saw that it was a box of pumpkin pasties from Percy.

"A little less than three days," Albus replied, helping himself to a chocolate frog.

"I'm sorry about the Stone, professor," Harry said, nibbling on the pasty.

"Do not worry, Harry. You kept it from Voldemort's hands, which – dare I say – is more than I was able."

"But that means that the Flamels will die, won't they?"

Albus nodded, "Indeed, Harry. They will go on to their next great adventure. We've spoken, and agree that it's for the best."

"Oh…" Harry sighed and sat the pasty down, no longer as hungry. "I take it that Dean and Ron and the rest are already released?"

Albus nodded, "Yes, dear boy. They were only here a night or so."

"Why was I here so long? I would have thought that Madam Pomfrey could heal whatever I broke in my hand without knocking me out for three days."

"The effort involved in defeating Quirrell, Harry, very nearly drained your magic completely. Had it taken much more effort, it would have killed you. For a moment after reaching the chamber, I was afraid it had. I entered just as you fell over."

Harry grimaced. "Wow… I didn't realize… But, professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"He's not really gone, is he?"

"No, I don't believe he is. Since Voldemort is not really alive, he can't really be killed at this time."

"Then you believe he can be killed?"

"I believe all things are possible, Mr. Brewer. Especially after reading your mum's Book."

Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "You an' I will need to talk over a few things, professor, and soon. But not right now." He yawned.

"I agree, Mr. Brewer. Not today. Perhaps some time over the summer, yes?"

Harry sat the glasses next to the half-eaten pasty, "Yeah, if Mom ever decides to let me have guests again."

"Sleep well, Harry. I'm sure your worries will prove false."

"You don't know Mom like I do," Harry muttered before falling asleep.

When Harry was released from the expert care of Madam Pomfrey, he rejoined his friends in Gryffindor Tower. Most of their things were packed, as the train back to London would be the next day, and everyone was taking a short break in the common room. "Hey y'all."

Everyone looked up, "You're all right?" came, simultaneously, from several people.

Harry nodded, "Yeah."

Dean grinned, "Some year, wasn't it?"

"I'll say!" Percy exclaimed.

At the leaving feast that night, Gryffindor was rewarded several hundred points in their 'efforts to thwart evil'. It won them the house cup, much to the Slytherins' dismay. Draco, in particular, looked rather irate.

Just before they got on the carriages that were to take them down to Hogsmeade Station and the waiting Hogwarts Express, all the students received notes not to use magic over the holidays. Harry cheerfully incinerated his, which made Percy laugh. "Y'all are invited to spend some time at my place over the summer, provided Mom don't ground me for the rest of my life."

"And you'll all get invitations to the Burrow, too," Percy said before asking Harry to follow him to a quiet corner area not far from the carriages. "Do you think that A.J. would mind if I wrote to her this summer? I've been adding some to the letter you and the other first-years have been sending, but do you think she'd mind if I wrote her on my own?"

Harry laughed, "No, I don't think she'd mind. See you later?"

Percy nodded, "Definitely."

Harry joined up with the other first-years and followed Hagrid back to the boats to return to the train station. Harry felt that the trip on the train passed much too quickly, despite the interruption halfway home by Draco Malfoy and his two goonish bodyguards. The trio of Slytherins learned the hard way not to walk into a compartment of Gryffindors and had to be carried out of said compartment. Crabbe and Goyle were sprouting fur and boils, and Draco had been hit with – among other things – a transfiguration hex that gave him walrus tusks and whiskers longer than a cat's.

When the train finally pulled to a stop at platform nine and three-quarters, Harry could see a veritable crowd of people milling about, waiting for their sons and daughters. He saw that his mom and dad were standing with Uncle Dave, Remus, and Sirius. They were all talking with Molly Weasley. While Harry tugged his trunk off the train, the rest of his friends following close behind, several of the other students called out to him.

"Bye, Harry!"

"See you, Brewer!"

Ron grinned at Harry, "Still famous, huh?"

Harry shrugged, "Not at home."

They made their way over to where their folks were waiting. Molly smiled at Harry, "Busy year?"

Harry snorted, "You have _no_ idea. Thanks for the sweater, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."

"Harry! There you are!" Aurilia pushed through the crowd. "You have got some _serious_ explaining to do when we get home, young man!"

Harry winced, "Sorry, Mom."

"You're just lucky that Remus and Sirius asked me to hold of judging your punishment until I get to hear your side of things. Come along, it's time to go."

Harry swallowed nervously and looked to his friends, "Help?"

Fred and George laughed, "Sorry, mate, for this one…"

"…you're on your own!"

Sirius grabbed Harry's trunk and motioned for him to follow his mom. "Chin up, Harry. It won't be that bad."

Harry shook his head, "You don't know Mom as well as I do… I'll probably never see daylight again, least not 'til next fall!"

* * *

**A/N2:** Thus concludes Book Two of the Raising Harry arc. Look for Book Three: 'Curiouser and Curiouser, as Alice Once Said' coming soon. 


End file.
